


"Wings" universe mini-fics

by thatoneinsecurenerd



Series: Wings [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Blood and Injury, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Food, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Medication, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Post-Divorce, Self-Harm, Swearing, Therapy, Underage Drinking, Unsympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, ventfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 34,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoneinsecurenerd/pseuds/thatoneinsecurenerd
Summary: I didn't want to abandon this universe, so I've written many mini-fics of moments before, after, and during "Wings" and "Strix Varia" (both of which youwillneed to read first to understand what's happening here).*The first chapter will explain better what to expect from this fic**If there are any moments you want to see (whether they've been referenced in "Wings" or "Strix Varia" or not), leave me a comment and I'll try my best to write it for you.
Relationships: Deceit | Janus Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: Wings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727896
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	1. What to expect from this fic

Honestly, I wrote “Wings” and “Strix Varia” very quickly, because it was the first universe I had created for this fandom, and my first published fic (and series), in general, and I know I was glad it was received so well. I didn’t want to let go of something that had brought me happiness but also allowed me to let out my (repressed) emotions and better my writing. 

As I write this, I have 15 mini-fics written. Each has their own title; each has their own set of tags (some of which aren’t mentioned in the tags for this fic as a whole). 

For the tags for this fic as a whole, I tagged things that I felt were major – things that I thought should be tagged because they might trigger people (but if I missed any, _please_ let me know and I’ll add them). I didn’t want a long-ass list of tags for a single fic. I know that’s something that, personally, turns _me_ off from a fic (because I like to read each and every single tag to know what I’m getting into, but at a certain point there’s too many). 

The tags for individual chapters will be in the chapter summary, and any notes I have about the specific chapter will be placed at the beginning or the end in the chapter notes sections. 

Now, as I write this, I’ve kind of left this universe. A good chunk of these mini-fics were written within the same few months, I believe, as I was writing then posting “Strix Varia,” but I’ve since taken a break to work on other works (some of which I’ve published, some of which I haven’t and that I probably won’t ever finish, and one I’m pretty invested in but it’s already long as hell and whether I publish it when it’s done remains to be seen (but if you’re interested in what this one’s about, ask, and I’ll answer, and maybe with enough interest in it, I’ll publish it eventually)). 

I’ve come back to this universe recently, knowing I wanted to finally publish these mini-fics this month. I’ve added a few more (a couple of which are pretty heavy, because I’ve been dealing with some shit and I needed to vent). I’ll add any that any of you request, as I mentioned in the summary for this fic. But this fic may always remain incomplete, because I never know when I’ll come back to this universe and write something new for it. 

But I think I’ve said everything I need to say. I’ll answer any other questions you have if you ask them. 

And now, onto the first chapter. 


	2. The Story of Ethan's Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deceit/Janus Sanders-centric,heavy angst, domestic abuse, domestic violence, emotional abuse, physical abuse, fire, tragic backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that Deceit's name is Ethan in this universe.

When he was growing up, Ethan had loved helping his mother in the kitchen. Starting at three years old, he would shadow her as she cooked, sitting on top of the kitchen counter when his mother agreed to lift him up there, knowing his father wouldn’t be home for a while still. He liked to taste the food, of course, but his favorite part was watching the flames flicker on the gas stove in shades of brilliant blue. He thought they looked pretty. 

When Ethan was about five years old, both he and his mother learned the hard way what the dangers were to leaving a child unattended. Ethan was sat on the kitchen counter, and when his mother left to answer a phone call, he was tasked with watching the water for the pasta until it boiled on the stove. She’d expected him to call out for her when he noticed it. She was sure he knew what to look for, after watching her make meals numerous times. 

But young Ethan hadn’t wanted to disturb his mother. After all, he’d seen how angry his father could get if he was disturbed while in the midst of a phone call. What was to say that his mother wouldn’t be the same way? Sure, she had this gentle exterior, this aura of pacifism about her, but what’s to say that unlike his father, she couldn’t flip a switch in her mind and go from kind to vicious in a split second? 

This was a side of his father he was sure his mother had tried to shield him from, but he’d been on the opposite end of plenty of beatings for being caught sitting on the kitchen counter or doing something and unintentionally incurring his father’s wrath. He’d also managed to overhear snatches of his mother trying to appease her husband, him seeming to give in – being so kind and loving – just to turn around and hit her until she was sobbing and could no longer hold back her screams of pain. 

So instead of potentially incurring his _mother’s_ wrath for once, Ethan decided he would try to deal with the problem on his own. He couldn’t get down from the kitchen counter without hurting himself, so he had to use the acrobatics of a gymnast to lean over the boiling, spitting pot of water and turn off the burner. The steam was hot on his face, which was only inches away from the water inside. (One slip and his face might hit the surface.) 

It was when he tried to come back up from his leaned position over the pot that he slipped. The hand he used to turn off the burner was unable to find the edge of the countertop to steady him and pull him back up. He had half a mind to turn his face away from the hot water as much as he could, as he saw it coming nearer and nearer, his hand unable to find _any_ surface edge to steady himself on before he hit the water. Half of his face hit the surface. His eye was opened for only a moment before he shut it, but – as he would find out later – it had been enough to cause damage. 

He screamed in pain, and his mother was there moments later. She pulled him out of the water and cuddled him to her chest. She held him close as she grabbed a washcloth from the restroom, doused it in cold water, and used it to gently pat his face, cooling it down, hoping to soothe the burns. She gently rubbed some healing cream onto the bright red skin of her son’s face, still trying to calm him down and silence his screams. She lay him in bed and lay the wet washcloth on the burned half of his face. 

He had to go to the hospital, where the doctors would tell his concerned mother and enraged father that the scarring would be permanent – his skin had been exposed to the heat for too long. The doctors had to tell them that his eye had suffered permanent damage, as well, and he would no longer be able to see from it; there was no solution for it. 

Ethan had to relearn how to move around the world. He learned quickly that it wasn’t only fathers who yelled and hit and called someone else names. He had to adapt. He had to build up a cold exterior. He adopted his father’s cold tendencies and the ways he used to get what he wanted from someone - knowing he couldn’t rely on good looks. He may not have used violence – knowing the pain that pain could cause – but he built up a strong vocabulary and perfected the art of manipulation and emotional shifting. 

By the time he was ten, he was no longer the innocent child who loved to watch his mother cook, watch the flame of the stove. He was sarcastic, his words biting like the fire that had once bit him. He was his father’s son. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know that in “Wings,” I say that his burn was caused by a fire, but that’s obviously not where this story ended up going. And technically, it was still kind of a fire. There was a fire under the pot at one point. Maybe Ethan’s young mind kind of magnified the situation to be all “yeah, I got burned, I don’t remember a lot of it, but I remember fire” and he came to the logical conclusion that fire equals burns and the story he tells Patton is altered from this story, the truth of what happened. 
> 
> This isn’t me justifying Ethan’s shitty behavior. As the tags say, it is literally a tragic backstory. Another person could have come out of it in a different way. They could have embraced the burns. (My second grade teacher had burn marks all along her arm, and she embraced them, she wasn’t ashamed of them.) They could have seen how their parent’s abuse was hurtful, and they could have strived to be a different kind of person. But Ethan chose to become heartless and abusive.


	3. Logan discusses college and expectations with his parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan Sanders-centric, a couple OC’s (Logan's parents), angst, ventfic, college, academic pressure/stress, family pressure/stress, verbal fighting, mention of being disowned (but he's not actually), a couple swear words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I neglected to mention in the first chapter that these chapters are going to be in relatively chronological order.  
> Oh, and these will eventually get longer.
> 
> Now, as for notes for this chapter, it's a ventfic because I wrote this when I was questioning my college major, because that questioning brought to light the fact that I had always been held under high academic standards by most people in my life (including myself) and that it had really been my father who chose my major and I didn't want to "let him down" by changing it.  
> But I'm feeling fine now. There's going to be a few other ventfic chapters where you might ask that, and I'm hoping I'll be able to tell you that I'm fine when I post them, too.

“Your expectations are too high!” Logan told his father, his voice raised in anger. “It’s not enough that I’m going to follow the path you laid out for me and become a lawyer, but now I have to _beg_ and _plead_ withHarvard Law to accept me?” 

“Harvard Law is one of the best law schools in the nation,” Logan’s father responded, keeping his voice at a more reasonable volume for the indoors. “And please, lower your voice.” 

“Why should I? The neighbors aren’t going to care about some _petty_ disagreement between father and son!” 

“You think this is _petty_? This is your _future_ we’re talking about!” Now, Logan’s father’s voice had raised. 

“Why does it have to be Harvard? Why can’t I stay here and go to Florida State?” 

“A _state school-_ ” Logan’s father said this with disgust, “-isn’t going to provide you with financial stability.” 

“A law degree from any school could give me financial stability.” 

“What about student loans? Or were you so focused on applying to colleges that you forgot how much these sorts of things cost?” 

“If you’re so worried about the cost, you should be more than happy that I’d like to stay here and attend a state school. It’s _much_ cheaper than any of the prestigious law schools you’ve pressured me to apply to. Isn’t it enough that I took Advanced Placement classes and am on track to be salutatorian?” 

“Obviously, it’s not enough for Harvard.” 

“So obviously, it’s not enough for you.” Logan huffed. “I see. _Yale University_ has put me on their waiting list, but all you can focus on is Harvard’s rejection of me.” 

“A waitlist to an Ivy League college means nothing. You’re doomed to sit and wait for an opportunity that’ll never come.” Logan’s father’s voice was bitter. 

“Mom,” Logan said, roping the woman who had been cooking dinner in the kitchen, while the squabble between father and son was occurring in the living room, into the conversation, “tell my father that he should feel honored by the fact that an Ivy League college was impressed by what they saw on my application, even if that wasn’t enough to grant me acceptance.” 

“Oh, no. I want no-” Logan’s mother began, before her husband cut her off. 

“Tell your son that a state school could _never_ compare to an Ivy League, and he should feel ashamed that, despite me pushing him to do all the right things, he made some bad decisions and wasn’t up to par,” Logan’s father retorted. The remark cut Logan deep. 

“Oh, so I’m not your son anymore, because I wasn’t, _and I quote,_ ‘up to par.’ I should be _ashamed_ that I’m not a fucking _computer_ and I couldn’t do perfect on standardized tests?” 

“Logan, please mind your language,” his mother said from the kitchen. 

“Mom,” Logan begged. “ _Please_ tell me you don’t agree with him. _Please_ tell him that he’s being too harsh.” 

“It’s not _harsh_ to want the best for you. It’s not _harsh_ to be disappointed that you’ve failed me,” Logan’s father retorted. 

“I’ve _failed_ you? Because I didn’t make it into an Ivy League? Because I wasn’t good enough to be a part of their low-ass acceptance rate?” 

“I know you had the potential to make the cut, and you didn’t.” 

“And that’s _my_ fault?” 

“Yes. Because _you_ messed up and couldn’t live up to your potential.” 

“My ‘potential,’ as you put it, was based off of your overly high expectations of me. I can’t be expected to be perfection.” 

“You don’t have to be ‘perfection’ to get accepted into an Ivy League.” 

“Don’t I?” Logan huffed again. His father opened his mouth to retort, but Logan put up a hand. “Don’t bother. It’s clear I’ve been disowned by this family, so I’ll go stay with a friend of mine.” 

“Logan, you know your father didn’t mean it,” his mother said, stepping into the living room. Her voice was kind. 

“I know he did. Don’t bother trying to defend either of us now. I will return home when things have cooled down a bit. I would hate to leave for college on bad terms with the both of you.” 

“Where will you go?” 

“A friend’s.” 

“Which one?” 

“Why should I tell either of you? You’ll just come pester them until I come back.” 

“I just want you to be safe.” 

“I will be.” Logan turned and walked quickly out of the room. He went to his bedroom, where he packed a bag with enough clothing, toiletries, and books to last him the weekend, along with the homework for his classes. He walked past his parents, who were both still in the living room. They looked up at him – his mother’s eyes begged him to stay – but he didn’t meet their eyes, his own focused on his destination. He walked out of the front door and into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be a reprieve from the angst, by the way. You're welcome. :)


	4. Remy hasn't really had his chance to shine in this universe yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton Sanders, Remy Sanders, another side makes a cameo, coffee, a little bit of sexual humor (if I need to put that up with the main tags for the fic, let me know, because I think there's another chapter where it'll pop up in), swearing, dialogue heavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This moment occurs the same summer that Patton and Ethan become friends (as mentioned in “Wings,” Chapter 1), but this occurs a few weeks into the summer, whereas the friendship between the two comes a little bit later.

“Hey bitch!” Remy loudly and cheerfully greeted a nineteen-year-old Patton, walking into the law firm at which Patton was the secretary, since it was near his own workplace at Starbucks. Remy had two cups of coffee in hand and dark sunglasses on his face that Patton knew he wouldn’t be taking off, even though he was now inside. 

“Language!” Patton hissed, as Remy got closer to his desk. Remy sat both cups of coffee down on the counter a bit above Patton’s head. (Patton’s desk, itself, was hidden behind this counter, at which any “customers” could stand at (and rest their elbows on) and ask Patton any questions they had.) Remy slid one of the cups towards Patton, and Patton reached up to to grab the cup then set it on the mess that was his desk: the file in the center and the different documents all around it that he was organizing by document type and in chronological order within that first category, before he would put them all into the file and call for one of the interns to come pick it up for their “boss.” 

“Oh, you know you love me, hon,” Remy responded with a smile. 

“If only because you bring me caffeine when I beg you to.” Patton wasn’t a big fan of bitter coffee – often, when making it at home, drowning it in cream and sugar – but Remy was an expert at making Patton a frappuccino with caffeine that was sweet enough to satisfy Patton’s sweet tooth and powerful enough to keep him awake. And Patton found out within the first day of this summer that he needed caffeine to cope with his usual work on top of helping the new batch of interns acclimate to helping out the lawyers and the district attorney. 

Patton had thought his job would be easier during the summer - similar to when he had been an intern, himself, even despite the fact that he was now the secretary for the whole firm - since he’d have the interns to help him out. But really, the interns only fetched documents they’d requested on behalf of their “boss,” leaving Patton to make all the copies and organize everything. So many words made his head spin. Remy had noticed this, when he’d popped in to wish Patton a great first day of dealing with interns, and he’d promised to be Patton’s caffeine supplier whenever he caught a break. 

So now, Patton could rely on Remy to come in – though Patton really wished he’d refrain from calling him a bitch (in that friendly way meant it) in such a professional workplace, in case it somehow led to Patton getting fired – with his caffeine boost and jokes or dramatic tales about his few hours already at work to cheer Patton up until he could go visit Remy on his lunch break. 

“If that’s the only reason you loved me, you wouldn’t be coming over for dinner tonight,” Remy teased Patton back. “You _are_ still coming, right?” Remy’s voice lost the teasing tone for this. “Em is finally free from his summer class, and my parents want to celebrate that.”

“I thought we’d agreed we’d go to the diner, when Em finally had a relief from school,” Patton responded, the phrase sounding slightly like a question. 

“We might have to go for breakfast tomorrow, if we can sneak out of my house early enough. I was on the phone with Em, and my parents heard us talking about it. You know they love him. They really wanted to see him.” 

“They love him because he’s going to be their son-in-law someday.” Patton and Remy, both, couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Remy and Emile getting married as soon as it became legal. Patton’s optimism was pretty contagious. Especially considering Emile’s own optimism about the situation rubbing off on Remy. “You know I don’t mind dinner with your parents. I was just worried about you. I know you’re ready to get out of their house and be financially independent.” 

“It’s not that I don’t love them.” 

“I know. It’s the privileged lifestyle.” Remy nodded, glad Patton understood him. “Just come pick me up tonight after my shift, yeah?” 

“Didn’t you bring your car?” 

“Wanted to walk today. It’s nice out, and it’s cheaper than gas.” 

“Gas isn’t that bad. Only a couple dollars a gallon.” 

“Mm, yeah, but-” Patton had to cut himself off, noticing one of the interns approaching his desk. This intern had caught his eye early on, with his expansive vocabulary (though Patton supposed he should’ve expected it from a law student) and the square glasses he wore that matched Patton’s own. “Hey, Kiddo!” Patton greeted. Remy stepped aside. “What can I do for you?” 

“Don’t call me that,” the intern said first. “Do you have the file I requested?” He shot a look Remy’s way, as if to blame him for Patton’s sudden “incompetence.” 

“Right, yeah.” Patton nodded. He’d been working while speaking with Remy, so all he had to do now was straighten the stack of organized papers and tuck them into the file folder. Then, he reached up to set it on the counter. “Organized by document type then chronological order. Anything else I can do for you?” The intern shook his head. 

“You’ll be the first to know,” he said, turning away from Patton. As soon as he walked away, Remy took back his place in front of Patton’s desk and spoke. 

“Not very nice, is he?” Remy remarked. 

“Most of them aren’t,” Patton responded, voice low, as if worried that someone – especially the intern – would hear. “But I don’t mind. I don’t do this for the people.” Patton took a sip of the cold frappuccino. He let out a satisfied sigh. “Amazing as always, Remy. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Emile could never.” Remy barked out a laugh. 

“Emile’s better at other things,” Remy teased with a smirk. Patton rolled his eyes. Had Remy been easier to shove playfully, Patton would have done so. 

Instead, Patton had to settle for a “Gross! I don’t want to hear about that! Go back to work!” waving his hands frantically and lightly smacking the counter as he did so. Remy’s smirk widened. 

“Your loss, hon. We wouldn’t mind having you around.” Remy winked. Patton’s cheeks lit up pink and he whined. 

“Stop,” he said, drawing out the vowel. 

“See you tonight, babe.” Remy blew Patton a kiss. Patton rolled his eyes again, smiling, of course, as he “caught” the kiss. He knew Remy was only teasing him. He was sure that Emile and Remy hadn’t done anything too scandalous yet, nor were they actually looking for Patton – or anyone else – to join their relationship. Patton didn’t mind being outside of it. _He’d_ gotten them together, after all. 

Patton watched Remy walk out. As soon as the door closed, he returned to his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t remember if I ever mentioned anywhere, where exactly Logan went to college or where he did his own internship as a law student, but I figure it’d be easier to get a job at a place you’ve interned at. Plus, I like the idea of Remy and Patton running into Logan (it was almost Ethan, at first, but I like the idea of the moment in Chapter 1 where Ethan and Patton become friends to also be the “first” time they meet (it’s the first time Remy meets him, anyway, and really, Remy’s not paying much attention to either of the interns when he meets them to remember that he has, later on. Plus, imagine Logan and Ethan working at the same place one summer and never knowing, and maybe Patton offhandedly mentions to Logan one day that that’s how he met Ethan and Logan goes “Wow, I was working there that summer, too,” and Patton all, “Hm. Small world. I wonder what it would have been like if I’d helped you that day, instead of Ethan.”)) before any of them even realizes he’s going to become a significant part of Patton’s life.


	5. Patton's Proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deceit Sanders/Patton Sanders, Logan Sanders/Patton Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Patton Sanders, Logan Sanders, wedding, proposal, implied homophobia, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kind of breaks the chronological order I have going, but at the same time, it doesn't?
> 
> Anyway, can I just briefly rant about my first week back at school and say that I, personally, _hate_ being online?

When Ethan proposed to Patton, he had to keep the gesture simple. He couldn’t go into a jewelry store and ask them to make a wedding ring that would fit a man’s hand. He couldn’t get down on one knee in the middle of dinner at a fancy restaurant and pop the question. But just because he couldn’t go all out like Patton might have always dreamed of didn’t mean he couldn’t get creative. Even if he had to propose one evening at home, he could make it a memorable experience for Patton. He could make it a story worth telling to the kids and grandkids they’d likely have later on in their lives. 

Between working a lot and spending a lot of time with Patton, it was hard to plan a surprise for the man. He couldn’t write notes down, because he might place them where Patton might find them or they might get mixed up in his work files. If he tried to brainstorm while he and Patton were trying to fall asleep for the night, Patton would know something was on his mind and he’d ask, and Ethan _couldn’t just lie to the one he loved, could he?_

But eventually, he did come up with a plan. He decided against making a fancy dinner – mostly because Patton would already be there and would want to help him make it. He’d wonder why they were making it, what occasion he must have forgotten - when he was good at remembering all the not-so-important-in-the-long-run-perhaps ones (including the date of when he and Ethan first met). But he did let Patton choose what they made. 

They sat next to each other at the dinner table as they usually did, legs touching. Patton told dad jokes and silly stories to fill in the silence, and Ethan couldn’t help but stare in awe at the man he wanted to marry. He hated to interrupt one of Patton’s jokes, excusing himself to use the restroom, insisting it was urgent. 

In all actuality, Ethan went into their bedroom and closed the door. He knew Patton must have known where he really went, able to distinguish the different path his footsteps took (a path that definitely didn’t lead to the bathroom) or the different sound the bedroom door made when it shut. But Patton didn’t get up. He didn’t question to himself what business Ethan had in their bedroom when he’d said he was going into the bathroom. He had no reason to mistrust his boyfriend. 

Patton heard Ethan come out of the bedroom, then heard his voice. “I’ll be there in a minute, but can you stand up and close your eyes, facing where I’ll come from?” Ethan asked. Patton raised an eyebrow in confusion, but didn’t question his boyfriend. He did as the man asked, standing up and facing the entryway to the kitchen. He shut his eyes tight, fighting the urge to open them as his curiosity became overwhelming. 

He heard as Ethan came into the room and stopped right before him. Then there was complete silence. “Open your eyes,” Ethan said, sounding breathless. And so, Patton did. He wasn’t eye-to-eye with his boyfriend. His boyfriend was kneeling on the floor before him, a Ring Pop in his hand. Patton gasped. “Patton Sanders, will you marry me?” Ethan asked. He looked vulnerable, scared that Patton might reject him. Scared that he’d put in all the hours of brainstorming just for Patton to tell him no, to tell him that he could see them as nothing more than boyfriends. 

“Yes,” Patton responded, breathless, tears pricking at his eyes. “Of course I’ll marry you, Ethan.” The first tears poured down his cheeks. He let Ethan slide the ring on his pinky finger (it wouldn’t fit on any other). Then Ethan stood and wrapped him in a tight hug. 

They both cried in happiness and love, thinking about how lucky they were to have each other for the rest of their lives. 

*** 

Logan wasn’t one for grand gestures, but Patton could be, if the grand gestures were tied into romantically-cliché moments. For example, grand proposals. Logan knew he would have to keep this in mind if he planned to propose. On the other hand, Patton would have to keep Logan’s dislike of grand gestures in mind if he planned to propose. 

As they got to know each other better and raising Roman helped to unify them as a family without the official titles of each other’s husbands, the idea of proposing flitted through both of their minds. They knew it wouldn’t change their dynamic much. They knew the only differences would be that they could have a wedding that Roman would get to be a part of and remember and that the affection they showed each other as boyfriends would now be because they were husbands. 

Though affection also hadn’t really been Logan’s thing. He was fine with handholding in public, but kisses were reserved for home, away from Roman’s eyes. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of Patton or ashamed of his sexuality, just that he wasn’t a fan of public displays of affection and he didn’t see the merit in kissing someone senseless whether in public or in private. 

One might have thought that these differences in the men’s personalities made them incompatible, but it was the opposite. They acknowledged each other’s differences and didn’t try to erase them. They respected them. They had mutual respect and mutual love, and that made their relationship strong. 

Their relationship was so strong that somehow, they’d both come up with the same idea to propose. They’d managed to convince Remy and Emile to take Roman for the weekend (though, realistically, it didn’t take much convincing. The two loved the boy as if he were their nephew. And considering how close Remy, Emile, and Patton were, perhaps the two _could_ be considered Roman’s uncles). They’d managed to convince each other (if it could even be called that when one asked the question and the other immediately agreed) to make a fancy dinner at home: salmon, rice pilaf, and roasted veggies, they finally decided on, appealing to Logan’s love of healthy food and Patton’s love of salmon (as a “fancy” food, anyway). 

The two made dinner together. They plated each other’s meals. They pulled out a bottle of red wine and poured a couple glasses. Somehow, unbeknownst to the other, they plopped their proposal rings into the bottom of each other's glasses. Not suspicious of each other and a potential proposal but aware of their own proposal plan, they took a cautious sip of wine. 

They felt the ring hit their tongue. They were careful to swallow their sip of wine and not the ring, before pulling the ring out of their mouth. Their rings were different, more suited to the other’s individual taste. 

They looked at each other, simultaneously confused and in awe. _How had they come up with the exact same plan? How did they not know, never guess?_ And of course, they loved that they’d had the same idea, that they obviously felt the same way about each other. 

Patton immediately slipped the ring onto his finger and Logan washed his under running water before he did the same. “If it wasn’t obvious,” Logan said as he sat back down, “my answer is yes.” Patton stood up and walked over to Logan. He knelt before him so they were eye-to-eye. 

“So is mine,” Patton replied, before pressing his lips to Logan’s in a tender kiss. 


	6. Moceit honeymoon at DisneyWorld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disneyworld, referenced homophobia, fluff, mentions of angst

“I know you probably always imagined a super romantic honeymoon in Paris, but, um...” Ethan began, looking at his husband timidly, “I managed to get tickets for Disneyworld here in Florida. I’m sure it’s not as exciting as Paris, or even the Disneyland _in_ Paris, but what do you say?” 

“Yes,” Patton replied. 

“The tickets are good for a whole weekend,” Ethan continued, rambling nervously, as if he hadn’t heard Patton’s agreement. “We’d get a hotel room actually in the park. We’d have a weekend to try out as many of the rides as we could. We could buy souvenirs and take cheesy tourist photos. We could eat special Disney food.” Patton took Ethan’s hands, stopping him before he could say any more. 

“I said yes.” Patton gave his husband a bright smile. “I’d love to go to Disneyworld. I’d love to go anywhere with you. I love you.” 

“I love you, too. I just thought you’d want something more extravagant, to make up for our elopement.” 

“You don’t need to win me over with fancy gifts. You’ve already won me. We’re married, and I’ll happily spend our honeymoon with you, on as many of the rides at Disneyworld we can ride in two days.” 

“You mean it?” Ethan looked vulnerable. He looked scared. He looked as if he worried that Patton was lying to protect his feelings, that Patton had already changed his mind about being with him for the rest of their lives. 

“I mean it. When do we leave?” 

“When will you be ready to?” Patton’s eyes glimmered as if he were truly a child and he’d just been told to pack his bags for The Happiest Place on Earth. He didn’t answer Ethan’s question, running off to their shared room to start packing. Ethan followed him, walking there, a fond and content smile on his lips. 

*** 

Ethan and Patton visited their hotel room first, dropping off their bags, before going to check out any of the rides. Now, they walked through the first part of the grand park. Patton couldn’t remember if he’d ever been to Disneyworld growing up, so he looked at the scenery (the buildings, the trees, the people) with a pair of fresh eyes. He couldn’t help but want to take mental snapshots to remember everything he was seeing. He couldn’t help but grab Ethan’s arm and pull him along as he looked in the windows of various buildings, wondering what they housed. 

Patton’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Ethan couldn’t help but follow Patton. He couldn’t help his own enthusiasm. It was _Ethan_ who dragged Patton into a souvenir shop and bought them matching Mickey Mouse ears (that they would wear for the rest of their weekend in the park, but then probably never again). They asked a random passerby outside the shop to take their picture, and they hoped the passerby wasn’t too shocked when Patton pressed his lips to Ethan’s cheek, their Mickey Mouse ears bumping slightly askew. 

They continued walking through the park, consulting the map and deciding which rides they would go on and when. They plotted where they would take more pictures and where they might find a mascot willing to take a picture with them. They wondered which restaurants in which parts of the park would have the best food. 

They held hands, not caring who saw or what anyone thought, for they were in The Happiest Place on Earth. They shouldn’t have to fear expressing who they are there. They shouldn’t have to sacrifice their happiness at their marriage and their relationship and each other for someone who might look at them the wrong way or spit at their feet. They shouldn’t have to sacrifice who they are when who they are made them happy with themselves and each other. 

*** 

Over the course of the weekend, they went on several rides, but never one more than once (no matter how much they wanted to, more determined to ride as many of the rides as possible before the park closed on their final night). They ate expensive meals and had Disney-themed snacks, stuffing themselves to the brim. They wandered through all kinds of shops, buying a few more souvenirs. They took pictures in their Mickey Mouse ears with Mickey and Minnie. They took pictures with a few other mascots. They took silly pictures, romantic pictures, cliché pictures... They had their memories of the day, of course, but they wanted to remember the happiness they’d had with each other on their only-semi-luxurious honeymoon. 

They wanted to remember each other’s smiles and how their hands felt in each other’s. How it felt to see such a magical place with fresh sets of eyes. How it felt to express themselves freely, not giving a damn about what anyone else might say. They wanted to remember how it felt to be happy, just in case the times ahead weren’t as such. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, I'm going to be posting a second chapter today, too, just because it's really short and I feel like it would be unfair to post it on its own.   
> I've also officially finished writing my first request, and I'm honestly debating posting that as a separate work (instead of as another chapter within this one) at some point, just because it's not so much a _mini_ -fic as it is a 7500-word fic. If I post it as a separate work, I'll still be sure to post a chapter here, especially to let you all know that it exists. We'll see how I feel next week.  
> Take care of yourself, guys, gals, and non-binary pals <3


	7. More Moceit fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> implied/referenced homophobia, kissing, neck kissing (very briefly, but it's there), fluff, light angst, internalized homophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. This is the second chapter I'm posting today, so make sure you've checked out the previous one. You won't be missing anything important to this one, you'll just be missing another mini-fic

Patton Sanders was known for being cheerful, despite the circumstances. He was friendly, accepting, and loving. He was an optimist who saw the best in anyone. 

Growing up, he’d had multiple crushes. When he was a lot younger, his crushes were girls with the prettiest, shiniest hair that the wind would blow just right. None of which he’d ever talked to, just admiring their beauty from afar. 

As he got older, his crushes were secret. A shame. _Boys_. In an era of homophobia and unacceptance. He tried to deny it. 

He tried to pretend that his heart didn’t flutter when his and his eighth grade lab partner’s hands brushed as they passed along equipment. He tried to pretend that the boy in his freshman year English class, reciting poetry like he’d been the one to write it, didn’t have him wondering what lips that spoke so beautifully could taste like. Surely something just as pretty. 

But he knew it was no use. He put a label to it. _Gay_. And when his two best friends started dating - when _he’d_ set them up - it was easier for him to admit it to himself and to them. It was easier to consider a future where, instead of marrying a girl and leading her on, he married a guy. It was easier to imagine a future where he might someday be allowed to get married to a guy and they’d be able to adopt children. 

He met Ethan at the law firm he worked at, one summer. Anyone else might have been deterred by the burn mark on one half of his face, but it made him more endearing to Patton. His heterochromia from being blind in one eye was endearing to Patton, as well. 

They were friends, first, and then they were boyfriends. And he made Patton happy. He was someone Patton could see himself marrying and adopting kids with, when it became legal. 

They both moved into Patton’s apartment. They shared a living space. 

Ethan was quick to learn that Patton was an early riser, that he would whip up breakfast and whistle while he worked. That he would be lost in his own little world as he worked. That he was adorably precious. That he was certainly a sight to behold, but he was even better _to hold_. 

Ethan wouldn’t be able to resist slipping into the kitchen and pressing his chest to Patton’s back as Patton watched pancakes in a pan or spread jam on toast. Patton wouldn’t know he was there at all. 

Ethan wouldn’t be able to resist resting his hands on Patton’s hips, holding tight. He wouldn’t be able to resist breathing in Patton’s homey scent, his nose resting in the crook of Patton’s neck. He wouldn’t be able to resist pressing a kiss there. He wouldn’t be able to resist biting lightly there and hearing Patton gasp as he finally registered Ethan’s presence behind him, his senses suddenly overwhelmed by him. 

Patton wouldn’t be able to resist turning around and kissing Ethan. Kissing him with all the love he felt, all the hope for their future he had. Losing himself in everything Ethan for a moment, before some kind of timer would pull him back to work, pulling Ethan away until the task was done and they were kissing each other between bites of food, smiles on their faces and love in their eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I wrote this months and months ago, and I'd like to think I've gotten better at writing fluff since then)


	8. Virgil meets his two new brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders, Remus Sanders, Patton Sanders/Deceit Sanders, adoption, Kid!Virgil, Kid!Roman, Kid!Remus, implied physical abuse, panic attack, abandonment issues, fluff and angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, I really wanted to write some kid!Virgil and happy parents moceit. So this is inspired by a prompt from [Tumblr](https://alloftheprompts.tumblr.com/post/123263945677/anonymous-said-to-alloftheprompts-cute-prompts): “A child learns they’re going to have a sibling soon.”

Virgil was five years old when he was adopted by Patton and Ethan Sanders. He was hesitant to trust them, considering the environment he’d grown up in, the environment that had led to him being put in the system (and a part of him, even at his young age, knew he was lucky to have been adopted). But they were kind and patient with him and each other. They doted on him and each other. Virgil found himself happy to be part of such a happy family. 

He was content reading in silence with his daddy with the burned face, “learning” big law words that really went in one ear and out the other. He felt at peace when he crawled into his fathers’ bed after a nasty nightmare and they didn’t kick him out, just held him closer, let him cry, and didn’t push him to talk about it. He enjoyed watching his fathers cook in the kitchen, one always making sure the other wasn’t about to burn the house down. 

The family of three developed a routine, but when he was about seven years old, Virgil began to hear whispers. Whispers of other children. Whispers of another adoption. And Virgil was _so_ scared that his family had decided they didn’t love him after all. He was _so_ scared that they’d decided to exchange him for younger children who weren’t so shy and quiet, who didn’t refuse hugs and still fought back a flinch when Patton, enthusiastic as he always was, raised his hand to offer Virgil a high-five for some achievement. 

And then the whispers manifested into a sit-down on the couch in the living room, his fathers sandwiching him between them, sharing a glance before one of them decided to break the silence. Virgil had almost done it himself - questions like “Am I in trouble?” and "Are you finally going to send me back?” on the tip of his tongue - but Patton beat him to it. 

“You’ve acclimated really well to our family,” Patton began, using a big word Virgil wasn’t sure he knew but that cued warning bells to go off in his head, anyway. Virgil must not have hidden the fear in his eyes quick enough, because Patton was quick to reassure him.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Virgil’s ‘happy pappy Patton’ rushed. “We love having you here. But we were considering changing things up a bit, and we were wondering how you might react to that.” Ethan wondered, noticing how Virgil’s fear didn’t quite leave him, if _he_ should have been the one to lead the conversation instead of his husband, who meant well but didn’t always go about things in the best way. 

“You’ve probably heard us talking about adopting again,” Patton continued. “These walls aren’t exactly thin.” The laugh he let out to follow that statement was a bit forced, but it was meant to put Virgil more at ease. “But us adopting again means changing the structure of our family. It means more people around and more people you have to meet and get used to. Do you think you would be okay with that?” Virgil shrugged. He knew the situation wasn’t as simple with that. A million questions flooded to the tip of his tongue. “Do you have any concerns with it?” 

“You’re not getting rid of me?” Virgil asked first, his voice soft and scared. He hadn’t meant to ask it, but apparently his brain had deemed it the most urgent. 

“ _Never_ , Virgil. Daddy and I love you _so_ much. Neither of us would _ever_ leave you.” 

“Then who are you adopting?” 

“We’re not sure yet. There are so many different kinds of children out there. I’d give them _all_ a home, if I could.” 

“But you can’t," Ethan said gently, putting a hand on his husband’s knee, reaching over Virgil to do so. Patton frowned a little at the thought. 

“You’ll know as soon as we’ve decided, Virgil, I promise. We’ll tell you all about them. We’ll make sure that you’ll get along well with them.” 

“Pinky promise?” Virgil held his pinky out towards Patton. Patton looped it with his own, and Ethan removed his hand from his husband’s knee to do the same. 

“Pinky promise,” the fathers said in unison. 

And after that discussion, many months had passed and Virgil hadn’t heard any more whispers of adoption. He wondered if his fathers had forgotten about it. But he wouldn’t ask them about it. He was perfectly fine being an only child. He loved his family exactly as it was. 

Except, his fathers hadn’t forgotten after all, if three sets of footsteps stepping through the front door of the apartment on a day when Ethan and Virgil were the only ones home (not going to work or school for the day, because “Daddy needed to go do something important, but then we’re going to spend the _whole_ day together afterwards”) was any indication. Virgil knew his father didn’t have six feet. He knew two of those sets of footsteps sounded much lighter than either of his fathers’, and they sounded like they might’ve been lighter than his own. So who was his father letting into their home? 

Virgil was in his room - which he’d noticed undergoing some changes recently (see: the bunk bed on the opposite wall from his bed), but he hadn’t thought anything of it. He hadn’t made the connection between a new bunk bed and a new sibling. Not when he hadn’t been told to pick a bunk to sleep in, so he could get used to sleeping in it before someone new arrived. He’d been listening to music on his daddy-with-the-burned-face's MP3 player, some songs that Virgil might have been a little young to hear, if he was listening to more than the thumping bass drum and the wailing electric guitar. 

He heard his father’s footsteps leave their room to join his other father and whoever else at the door. Then, there were four pairs of footsteps heading his way.

 _Was he in trouble? Had they called him and he’d been so focused on the sensation of the bass drum thumping in his chest and listening for strange voices that he hadn’t heard them? Had they decided they_ _weren’t_ _going to keep him after all, so they’d brought people to take him away?_

No. _Adults didn’t have light footsteps. Adults had heavy footsteps, because they were heavier._

The footsteps reached his door. He pulled off his daddy’s black headphones. He didn’t look up. He was too scared to look up. 

“It's alright, Virgil," Ethan said kindly, as if able to sense his son’s fear. “There’s no one here who will hurt you. Look up at me, and you’ll see that everything is okay.” Virgil trusted both of his fathers, but still, he was scared. _What if he looked up and something was different?_ _What_ _if he looked up and suddenly everything changed_ _,_ _and they’d forgotten to prepare him for such a big change and-?_

Virgil’s breaths came out in sharp, quick gasps. His father’s footsteps crossed the room to him quickly. _But which father?_ Virgil screwed his eyes shut tight. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want things to change. 

“Can I touch you?” Ethan, then. Virgil shook his head. “Okay, then breathe with me. In for four…” Ethan led Virgil through a breathing exercise. And when the boy was calm, he opened his eyes. He met Ethan’s eyes. “It's okay, Virgil,” Ethan assured him. “Daddy’s home. He's standing at your door. Do you want to tell him hello?” 

“Hi, Daddy,” Virgil said, though he didn't look in that direction. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Patton greeted, his voice sing-song. “Don't you want to look up and see it?” Virgil wasn’t a huge fan of surprises (see: the undiagnosed anxiety), but his father sounded excited every time he had one. He might've sounded a little more excited this time. Maybe that's why Virgil looked up. 

In the doorway stood his father, holding the hands of two twin boys with messy hair. Virgil didn't know how to react, what to say or what to do. Someone would need to break the silence eventually. And finally, someone did. 

Tiny, cautious footsteps made their way to Virgil. One of the twins had released Patton’s hand. “Are you Virgil?” they asked. Virgil couldn't identify the emotion in their tone. He didn't answer, at first. But then, Patton met his eyes, and they seemed almost pleading – pleading for Virgil to get along with these two boys. These two boys who Patton must have adopted. 

_Why didn't his fathers tell him?_ _They’d pinky promised they would tell him. How could they break a sacred pinky promise?_

“I am,” Virgil replied. He tried to ignore the feeling of having been betrayed and misled. 

“Are you as nice as Patton and Ethan said you are?” _If this was to be one of his new brothers, why was he referring to their fathers by their names?_

“I hope so.” Virgil's voice was gentle. He watched the other twin approach him. 

“I'm Remus,” the boy said, sticking his hand out like he’d been taught to do. Virgil hesitantly took it and shook it, like _he’d_ been taught to do. And as soon as he had… 

“I'm Roman!” the first twin said, his voice louder, as if he wanted to outdo his brother’s greeting. He, too, held his hand out for Virgil to shake. The older boy did. 

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Virgil said. And then, not at all bitter, “Welcome to the family.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y’all make the connection between the “Neither of us would ever leave you,” line and the fact that Patton did, in fact, leave Virgil – twice (if you consider Patton cutting off contact with the Lee family after “Strix Varia” as leaving Virgil)? Because I meant that line to hurt. I meant for a lot of this to hurt. I’m an angst writer at my core.
> 
> Might fuck around and post that request as a separate fic. I know it's something I want to do, I'll just have to see when I have the time. I hope today, but we'll see. So just keep a look out for it, I guess.


	9. Hand-iwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton Sanders, Janus Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Remus Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders/Janus Sanders, Kid!Virgil, Kid!Remus, Kid!Roman, adoption, light-hearted pranking, paint, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's everyone's friendly reminder that Deceit's name is Ethan in this universe, just because I never wanted to go back and change it and I'm too stubborn to go and do that now.

Patton had always been a bit childish: saying any non-profane variation of a profanity he could think of, if the need arose, bouncing around like a happy child as he tried his best in the kitchen, looking at the world through a positive, rose-tinted lens and finding the beauty in the bees floating nearby or the rain pitter-pattering on the roof of the apartment. His innocence and optimism were two of the many things Ethan had fallen in love with, when it came to Patton. After all, those traits balanced out Ethan's own pessimistic view of the dog-eat-dog world they actually lived in. 

They made plenty of decisions using their own viewpoints, and both times they adopted, Patton was all for it. He loved the idea of playing with the children and raising them to be successful. Ethan had thought of the messes they might bring (whether intentionally or not). Of course, Patton had won out in the end. 

But sometimes, Ethan would swear that he had four children instead of three, that his husband was just as much a child as their three adopted sons. 

It wasn’t that Patton acted childlike to the point that Ethan was taking care of his every need, as well. No, it was Patton who watched over the boys while Ethan worked, as the boys were acclimating to their new home. It was just that, during these times when it was the three kids and one childish adult, Ethan didn’t know what to expect upon his return. 

Virgil was a very shy and cautious child. He worried, even despite his fathers' constant assurance, that they would grow tired of him or that his family would grow tired of each other and so he’d go back into the system. 

Roman and Remus were both energetic. Roman was the kind of child who acted out his favorite stories, and Remus, if he’d been allowed, probably would have dug around in the kitchen cabinets and made a mess of the flour or used a magnifying glass to see what happened when you directed the sun’s beam through it and onto some ants. 

Together, the twins could be a source of mischief, always coming up with creative new places to hide Virgil’s latest book (even though Virgil would never agree to the treasure hunt they’d thought up for him to find it, instead telling Patton, who would then make the boys unearth it from its hiding place) or to mess around with either of their fathers in a way that wouldn’t get them in trouble. 

Because Patton was around more often than Ethan, it was usually Ethan who was the victim of the twins’ “pranks.” He would walk inside the door of his and Patton’s apartment to his husband and the twins sitting on the couch, looking up at him. (Virgil would be sitting in Ethan’s armchair, feigning non-involvement in whatever mischief they’d all cooked up this time.) Patton would be fighting back a smile, but Remus would wear a mischievous one. Roman would be squirming in his seat, waiting for his father’s reaction. 

“What did the three of you do this time?” Ethan would ask fondly, feigning irritation, as he shed himself of his coat, hat, and briefcase. 

“Oh, nothing,” Patton would respond in a faux-innocent way. Ethan would walk further into the house, looking around for anything out of place, three “shadows” behind him. 

One time, he’d walked into the kitchen to his coffee mug sitting upside down on the counter. He knew he hadn’t left it that way that morning. He knew it must have been tampered with, and the faint smell of paint in the air only added to his suspicions. 

He picked up the mug, noting his fourth “shadow” hanging further behind his original three, also observing his reaction to their “prank.” 

The mug had three sets of tiny handprints on its exterior: one purple and larger than the other two, which were dark green and bright red, respectively. There was also a sticky note inside the cup: “Turn around.” 

Ethan set the mug down and did exactly that, noting the mischievous glint in his sons’ eyes, Patton’s face inches away from his own, and a sudden coldness on his cheek. He shivered. Patton was beaming. 

“Surprise,” the man whispered, removing his hand and squeezing past Ethan to the sink. Their three sons snickered upon looking at him. He leveled them with a fake glare. 

“What did daddy do to me?” he growled, hands out and fingers wiggling in a silent threat to tickle them to get an answer, if necessary. 

“N-nothing!” Roman choked out through his snickering. Meanwhile, Virgil lifted a hand to his cheek and pointed, as if to say “you have something there.” 

Ethan walked through the house and into the bathroom, his four shadows trailing behind him. A large, bright blue handprint was on his cheek. Patton’s _hand_ iwork, of course. 

“How did you paint your whole hand while I was looking at the mug without me noticing?” Ethan asked his husband, meeting his eyes in the mirror. His husband wrapped his arms around Ethan's waist. “Your hand better not still have paint on it.” 

Patton held his hand up towards the mirror. It was still bright blue, but the paint looked more like a stain. “I just touched it up a bit,” Patton answered. “I was painting it every half hour when it got to five-thirty, since I didn’t know when exactly you’d be home. I’d painted it like ten minutes before you got home, so most of it was dry.” 

“That explains why your hand looks stained. We’ll have to try alcohol.” A pause. “I hope you all cleaned up any mess you made with the paints?” This was directed more at his sons than his husband, obvious by how his glance shifted to them, through the mirror. 

“Mhm!” the three boys said together. They were quick to leave the two adults be, after that, satisfied with their “prank.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the title is supposed to be a pun. Yes, I made the pun in the mini-fic, too. No, it’s not my best one.


	10. A series of voicemails between Remy, Emile, Patton, (and Ethan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emile Picani, Remy Sanders, Patton Sanders, Janus Sanders (named Ethan), Virgil Sanders (mentioned), Roman Sanders (mentioned), Remus Sanders (mentioned),Logan Sanders (mentioned), Unsympathetic Janus Sanders, voicemails, emotional/psychological abuse, swearing, manipulation, therapy mention, anxiety mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is HUGE insight on Ethan’s emotional abuse towards Patton. It was really only mentioned in _Wings_ , but this actually shows it in action, as much as voicemails can. So if you’re triggered by emotional/psychological abuse, you’ll want to skip past this chapter. (Though I can't promise this portrayal is 100% accurate. If it isn't, I apologize, and I don't mean to offend/upset anyone with my portrayal.)

“Hey, Pat, it’s Emile. We haven’t heard from you since after you introduced us to Ethan, and we just wanted to check in on the state of things. Normally, you update us on big events in your life, so not being invited to your wedding was a shock, not meeting your husband _before_ the wedding was a shock, and, well, something’s just not sitting right with me about all of it. Call it a psychologist’s intuition. 

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to – I can’t imagine what I would actually say – but just call me back soon and tell me how you’re doing, okay?” 

*** 

“Hey, Pat, it’s Emile. I called you a while ago and I never heard back from you, but that’s actually not why I’m calling today. Remy tried to stop by your work to come see you, but he said there was someone else sitting in your desk. He didn’t feel that it would be right to ask them where you were, and he didn’t want to have them call up Ethan, since he didn’t know how he would react to taking a non-work-related call in the middle of work. So I’m just calling to ask if you’re okay. 

“Are you sick? You know we can make you some chicken noodle soup or a batch of cookies and bring it over to you. Call me back soon, okay? The feeling in my gut is getting worse.” 

*** 

“Hey, babe, it’s Remy. Emile said he hasn’t been reaching you, and from what I just happened to hear from one of your coworkers (I swear it was an accident. I was just stopping by to see if you were back at work, and they were walking by me, whispering, and I heard them mention you and Ethan, so I couldn’t help but listen in), we really need to talk. 

“Call me back soon, okay? Or call Emile. You might be better off calling Emile. He told me about this gut feeling he has, and yet, he’s the only thing keeping me from going straight to your house and checking in on you.” 

*** 

“Hey, babe, it’s Remy. You never called either of us back. I’m sure you’ve listened to our messages. Even _I’m_ starting to get a bit worried. 

“I suppose I should just tell you what I heard. Maybe that’ll motivate you to call us back. 

“So anyway, what I heard is that you and Ethan adopted a kid. I mean, Emile and I always knew you wanted kids, but I think both of us would have preferred to hear about you adopting from _you,_ and not unintentionally. Emile would be a good therapist for the kid, if they need it. He wants to know if we’ll be able to come over and meet them. I’m really tempted to just drive over there myself. Emile would make me bring congratulatory cookies or something, though, so I’d have to hope that you wouldn’t be too mad. 

“Oh, yeah, so I may already be on my way over there... I may already be parked down the street from your house. Call me back and tell me you don’t want me to come inside, and I’ll leave.” 

*** 

“Hey, Remy, it’s Patton. You said to call you back, but now you’re not answering? I know I didn’t pick up my phone right away, but that’s because I was busy with Virgil, our new son. He’s not adjusting very well, so I’ve had to take some time off work to help him. 

“He likes me. That’s always a good thing. I think it’s just a transition period. He doesn’t need Emile’s professional help. He’ll be fine. Please don’t come to visit, though. I don’t want to overwhelm him any further. 

“Was that good, Ethan?” 

“Are you still on the call?” 

“Oh.” 

[The line abruptly clicks off.] 

*** 

“Hey, Pat, it’s Emile. Is everything okay? Remy played me the voicemail you left him. You know you don’t need Ethan’s approval to talk to us, right? We’re your friends. 

“If you don’t want us to come over yet, that’s fine, but just let us know when we can, yeah? We want to meet Virgil. I promise I’ll try not to psychoanalyze him. 

“Call me back this time, yeah? I’m really starting to worry.” 

*** 

“Okay, look. I can respect you not wanting us to come over, but having me escorted from your workplace the moment I step foot in the door? Are you fucking kidding me, Patton? What’s gotten into you? Am I not allowed to come in and check on you now? It’s never been a problem before. 

“You haven’t been answering any of our calls since the one, and we’ve got a lot to talk about. You’re not letting us come over, you’re not keeping in touch, and we’re _really_ starting to worry. I’ll be back tomorrow. I don’t care how many security officers you send after me. We’re _going_ to talk about this, babe.” 

*** 

“Remy, please, let it go. You don’t think it hurts me to see the security officers lift you up and drop you on the ground across the street like you weigh nothing? You think I want that? 

“You’re not respecting my boundaries. I’m not talking to you, because you’re not being a good friend. You say you’re worried, you say you’re _both_ worried, but I know you just hate that I’m starting a new family and you’re not. I can’t be friends with people who are jealous of me. I’m sorry, Remy. 

“Don’t call me again. And don’t have Emile call me, either. I won’t answer.” 

[A shaky breath is heard before the line clicks off.] 

*** 

“Patton, it’s Emile.” [He was using his therapist voice.] “I understand that you don’t want to talk to either of us as friends, but perhaps you should talk to me as your therapist. You’re acting differently than usual, which I’m hoping is just the stress of starting a family getting to you. But I can help you with that, remember? 

“You can call me back, and we can set up an appointment time. Just you and me. We don’t have to record the session, but I _will_ have to take notes. 

“You don’t have to call me back right away, but think about it, yeah? I can help you.” 

*** 

“Emile, Remy, it’s Ethan.” [His voice was stern, business-like. He was calling from Patton’s phone.] “You need to stop calling Patton. He’s expressed his desires to the both of you that you leave him and our family alone. If you can’t respect that, I’m afraid I’ll have to take the both of you to court. 

“It’s upsetting him, and when he’s upset, both Virgil and I are upset. You may think you’re trying to help, but _you’re_ the problem. Let this go. 

“Good day.” 

*** 

“Hey, Patton, it’s Emile.” [He sounded sad.] “Ethan told us these phone calls were upsetting you, and I swear that was never our intention. It’s been about a year, now, and we’ve left the two of you alone, but I’m afraid we can’t any longer. We’d really like to meet Virgil. 

“I know you tried to lose our friendship by being harsh, but you haven’t lost us. We’re still your friends. All we want is to meet your son. Then we’ll go back to leaving you alone. 

“All we’ve ever wanted was to make sure your family was doing okay. Let me see that I have no reason to worry, and I’ll go back to leaving you alone. 

“Please, Patton.” 

*** 

“Alright, fine. You can meet him. We’ll come over for Hanukkah. Don’t psychoanalyze us, Emile. 

“We’ll stay for dinner, but when we leave, you need to leave us alone again. I mean it. If I get any more voicemails from either of you, I’m taking you to court for harassment.” 

[A shaky breath can be heard.] 

“Hang up the phone, Patton.” [Ethan’s voice is somehow both gentle and firm.] “You did-” 

[The line clicks off.] 

*** 

"Hey, Patton. It’s Emile. I’ve been thinking about Hanukkah and about you and Virgil and your new family’s dynamic. I know you hate to hear it, but I think you all might benefit from some family counseling. 

“Virgil seems well-adjusted, sure, but I witnessed some early signs of anxiety in him. And based off of what you told me about his previous family... I think he would benefit from it. 

“I think you would benefit from some counseling of your own. You and Ethan seem to be doing fine, and yet, there’s that same ugly feeling in my gut. We could try marriage counseling, really make sure that the two of you are _equal_ partners. 

“Just... think about it, okay? Remy and I miss you, but if you don’t want us in your life as friends, at least let me in it as a professional, so I can help your family stay strong.” 

*** 

“Providing your services to a friend isn’t professional, Emile.” [A voicemail from Patton’s number. Once again Ethan’s voice, his tone cold and manipulative.] “I would _love_ for the firm you work for to hear about your biases. They’d _love_ to hear how you’ve offered our family professional help, when we’re - you said it yourself, even – well-adjusted. They’d _love_ to hear how you consider Patton your friend, and that you’re _so kind-hearted_ that you’d offer him a discount for your services. You didn’t have to say so, but I. Know. You. 

“And with my reputation in the courts and your voicemail as evidence... well, you wouldn’t stand a chance if I brought this to your higher-ups.” [A gasp, as if in realization.] “You’d be fired.” [And sarcasm for this next sentence.] “And what a _tragedy_ that would be. 

“You don’t want to test me, Emile, so I’ll make myself clear. You and your husband stop calling Patton, or I present all this evidence to the head of your firm and get you fired. I could maybe even go so far as to get you blacklisted. 

“Think about it.” [His tone for this statement mimicked Emile’s concerned tone from his voicemail to Patton, and yet, if you knew Ethan well enough, you’d hear the satisfied smirk in his tone. Then the line clicked off.] 

*** 

“I know you don’t want to hear from us, but happy birthday, Pat.” 

“Happy birthday. I hope your shitty-” 

“-Remy!” 

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. You can’t tell me you like him. I know what you think he’s doing.” 

“It’s not our place. Pat has made his choice. He’s not going to listen to us.” 

“Then why are we bothering with this in the first place? He’ll probably not even listen to this.” 

“But he doesn’t have our number blocked, so maybe there’s hope.” 

“Or maybe Ethan just wants us to slip up. He wants us to call. He wants to have another voicemail on file for when he decides to take us to court, so he can keep ripping Patton away from us and everyone else!” 

“Then hang up.” 

*** 

“Happy birthday, Pat. It’s been a whole other year. We miss you. Remy says happy birthday, too, but he’s... well, he’s upset with you. He doesn’t have anything nice to say about your relationship or your husband, so I’ve forbade him from being in the room with me while I record this. 

“I figured you wouldn’t answer. You haven’t in a long time. I wish you would. I wish we could talk like the good old days. We could go out for diner food, just you, me, and Remy. 

“I hope you’ve gotten therapy for Virgil. Anxiety only worsens as it continues to be left untreated. If you haven't, at least talk with your husband about it. Your opinion has _merit_. I hope he hasn't convinced you otherwise.

“And if you haven't started couple's therapy, I hope you'll consider it, too. I just want you to be happy with him. I just hope you’re happy with him, Pat.” 

*** 

“Hey, Emile, it’s Patton.” [His voice was soft, scared.] “Ethan’s not home right now. He hasn’t been home very much since we adopted the twins. He’s been working. I’ve been having to stay home to help them transition, so he’s having to work overtime to compensate for the income I’m no longer bringing in. 

“I know you’ll just keep calling if I don’t update you, so here’s an update: The twins are named Remus and Roman. They’re settling in okay. My marriage is okay. Virgil is okay. You need to stop calling. Ethan will seriously take you to court. He won’t listen if I try to tell him not to. 

“He doesn’t listen to much of what I say anymore. He insists he’s right and I’m just misguided. Insists he’s doing what needs to be done and anything he asks me to do is also what needs to be done. 

“Leaving this voicemail needs to be done. This is his last warning to you. 

“I know you’d ask what I want. And... I don’t want you to be hurt. But you need to leave us alone. That’s what Ethan says, and he’s always right. 

“Don’t call me back. Neither of you. I- 

“I’m in our-!” [The line abruptly clicks off.] 

*** 

“Hey, Pat, it’s Emile. I know you said we shouldn’t call you back, but both Remy and I would like to catch up with you and meet the twins. Even after all these years of shutting us out, you haven’t lost our friendship. We won’t breach any topics you don’t want us to. Just come over for Hanukkah, yeah? 

“When we had you and Ethan and Virgil over for Hanukkah a while back, it was peaceful. We could do that again. Hanukkah could be like... a time of peace. We’d just get to know the newest additions to your family and check in on you. What do you say? 

“Call me back and let me know, yeah?” 

*** 

“Hey, it’s Patton. Ethan said I could bring all the kids over to yours for Hanukkah, but he’ll be too busy working to come by. He told me that it’ll be the last time I can see you for a while, until you learn how to respect someone else’s boundaries. 

“I, personally, like listening to the voicemails you’ve left and remembering how close we used to be, but I’m not allowed to tell him that. I wish he could come for Hanukkah and see what good people you are but I think he’s determined to hate you. 

“I suppose his absence will be better for Remy, though, huh? You’ve made it clear his opinion on my marriage.” [In the background, a door opens. When Patton speaks again, his voice is an almost-inaudible whisper.] “I need to go.” 

*** 

“Hey, Pat. Remy and I both hope you’re holding up okay. We’re glad we finally got to meet Roman. I hope Logan will help you keep in better touch with us, now that you don’t have to worry about Ethan’s threat hanging over our heads. 

“We love you, Pat. And we’re both here for you. If you want me to refer you to a therapist wherever you end up, just call me and let me know. 

“I hope to talk to you soon.” 


	11. A Lesson in Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Remy Sanders (briefly), Kid!Roman, post-divorce, light angst, one instance of swearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is irrelevant to the chapter, but gosh, college is killing me

Perhaps it was only because of location that the babysitter “chose to continue to provide her services to Patton,” after Patton and Ethan had divorced, while Patton was still searching for a new place to move to out of the town. Patton could return to work and Roman could return to school – even if either of them weren’t exactly in the right headspaces for it. It was something that had to be done, unfortunately. 

Usually, the babysitter was available to pick Roman up after he got out of class, walk him home, and watch over him for a couple hours until Patton (sometimes with Logan in tow) returned home. However, there was one day she hadn’t been available. She’d told Patton that she had a huge exam coming up that she couldn’t afford to fail, and that while she loved Roman and knew he wouldn’t cause her any trouble if she tried to study, she didn’t want to have to still divide her attention between her study materials and a young child who couldn’t do many things for himself. 

Patton understood, of course. So, that day, he “snuck out” of work (he’d told his boss that morning when he came in that he’d have to leave for a few minutes that afternoon and he could dock it from his weekly pay, if he felt like it, or just consider it a mandatory worker’s break. He didn’t know what his boss had decided to do about it). He drove down to the young boy’s school. 

Understandably, the young boy was excited to see him. But at the same time, he was a little worried that he might have done something wrong, even though he’d been told that his father would be picking him up from school today. 

Roman didn’t voice his worries to his father, however. Instead, he looked out the window at scenery he didn’t know if he’d ever seen before, because he didn’t think he’d been to his daddies’ - no, just his daddy and Logan, now – work before. 

When they arrived, Patton helped Roman get out of the car, pulling the boy’s backpack over his shoulders so he could take it inside with him. Patton held Roman’s hand as they walked inside, knowing that the boy would stare awestruck at everything he was seeing – even if the interior decorating of the firm wasn’t anything noteworthy – and would want to go explore all the various rooms and touch the walls to see if they felt rough under his hands or all the supplies on Patton’s desk. 

Patton didn’t have room at his desk behind the counter for Roman to sit and work, as well. But he’d been in the lawyers’ offices before, and he was sure that if he begged Logan, Logan might be able to set Roman up at his desk with a place to do his homework. So, he led Roman past his desk and up the stairs. 

Patton led Roman down a hallway of various offices with the doors closed. They took a right turn. It took Patton a moment to realize that he’d turned the wrong way, as if he was heading to Ethan’s office. Patton’s breath came out shakier when he realized, a longing gaze directed down the hallway before he swiveled him and Roman around – making a half-assed joke about being forgetful that had the boy smiling just the littlest bit – and headed down the opposite hallway. 

The father and son duo walked past a few more closed doors before Patton reached out his hand to knock on another closed door. “Can I knock, daddy?” Roman asked. Patton lowered his hand. 

“Of course you can, Ro,” Patton responded. He wondered if Logan could hear them from the other side of the door. That’s assuming Logan was in his office and not busy with a client, and not in a courtroom. He didn’t think he’d seen Logan leave the firm, and he didn’t think Logan could have left in the ten-ish minutes he’d been gone to pick up Roman, but... 

Roman’s knock was relatively soft on the door, but it was incessant. His tiny fist pounded on the door with all his strength, with no specific pattern to it. 

Finally, the door pulled open. Logan was quick to school his annoyed face at being interrupted from his work into something fond at seeing the father and son on the opposite side of the threshold to his office. 

“Hello, Patton. Roman,” Logan said. “What can I do for you?” 

“Do you have space in your office for Roman to do his homework? I know that’s kind of making you his babysitter for the afternoon while I work, but his babysitter had to cancel, and my desk is too small for the both of us, and you’re the only one I trust to look after him right now,” Patton rambled.

“I don’t mind it at all, Patton. Roman is very well-behaved, and I know he will not serve as an interruption to my work.” Logan leveled the boy with a look that asked, ‘Right?’ and Roman nodded enthusiastically. “I can set him up at my desk, and I can help him with his homework if he needs it.” 

“Are you sure you don’t mind? I could go ask someone else.” 

“I don’t mind, Patton. And you told me you have no one else to ask.” 

“Well, I have one other person I could ask,” Patton grumbled. 

“ _I_ will take care of Roman.” Logan’s voice had a hint of firmness to it. Patton let go of Roman’s hand. 

“Make sure you’re on your best behavior for Logan, okay?” Patton asked his son. Roman hummed happily in agreement. “I’ll be back in a couple hours. Call me if you need anything, okay, Logan?” 

“Of course, Patton. Perhaps you could call Remy to have him drop off a snack for Roman? I know the babysitter usually gives him one.” 

“I will. And I’ll send Remy up with it when he gets here. Anything else? Roman?” The boy shook his head, and Logan did the same. “Have fun, then, my prince,” Patton told his son, crouching down to pepper his face with kisses. Roman squirmed at the tickling sensation, but he was giggling. Finally, Patton pulled away and allowed Roman to press a wet kiss to his cheek. 

Roman waved goodbye as Patton turned and walked away from Logan’s office. Only once Patton disappeared, did Roman enter Logan’s office. Logan closed the door behind the boy, then pushed some of his paperwork aside. 

Logan helped Roman up into the cushiony chair on the opposite side of the desk, pushing it closer. Logan sat in his own seat, returning to his work as Roman pulled his homework out of his backpack and got started on it. 

It was easy for him. By the time a knock sounded on Logan’s office door, Roman was tucking his homework into his backpack. “I’ll get it!” Roman said, before Logan had a chance to tell the person to come in. 

What Roman hadn’t thought of was how he was going to get out of the chair. His feet were, well, _feet_ away from the ground, and the chair was pushed pretty close to the desk. He knew he was physically capable of climbing over the arm of the chair, but he knew Logan might not like that. He knew Logan would frown at him in that serious way he did. 

Roman pouted, sitting back in the chair and crossing his arms. Logan had been watching him from above the frames of his glasses the whole time, his head titled down towards his own work. 

“Come in, Remy,” Logan said, when it was clear that Roman wouldn’t be able to get up to answer the door. The door opened, and on the opposite side of the threshold was a man in a brown leather jacket and brown sunglasses, holding a small tan bag emblazoned with the green Starbucks logo. He stepped into the room. Roman watched him curiously. He’d only met the man once, after all. 

Remy crouched down before Roman’s chair. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head as if to give the boy a better look at his face, to assure him that he wasn’t a threat. “Your daddy asked me to bring you goodies. He said you like chocolate.” Roman nodded enthusiastically. 

Remy pulled a chocolate cake pop out of the bag with a flourish. Roman’s eyes went wide. He’d never seen something like that before. “What is it?” he asked Remy. 

“It’s called a cake pop.” 

“So it’s cake?” Remy nodded in response. He held it out towards Roman. 

“Please try not to get any sprinkles on the chair,” Logan told Roman, without looking up from his work. 

“I pinky promise.” Roman took the cake pop from Remy and popped as much of it as he could into his tiny mouth. Remy smiled at the kid’s antics, and Logan, who was still discretely watching the boy, rolled his eyes fondly. 

“There’s another one of a different flavor in here for when you’re done with that one,” Remy told the boy, setting the bag on Logan’s side of the desk. “There’s something in there for you, too, babe. Free of charge.” 

“Please refrain from calling me that,” Logan said. 

“No can do, babe. Enjoy!” Remy smiled, pushing his sunglasses back over his eyes. Roman waved at Remy, as the adult man walked backwards out of the room. When the door closed, Roman stopped waving. He continued to eat his cake pop. Logan had pulled a blueberry muffin out of the bag, which he knew was for himself. 

Logan nibbled on his muffin as he worked. At one point, he handed the small bag over to Roman, so Roman could dispose of his cake pop straw and grab the uneaten cake pop from inside. 

The room was relatively quiet while Roman ate, but as soon as he finished with that, the boy didn’t know what to do. He was entertained, for a bit, looking at the “decorations” Logan had around the room (see: his law degree and a couple other certificates denoting his achievements in the law field). 

Eventually, though, he became restless. Logan was so focused on his work, and Roman had done all he could sitting in that chair. He knew he shouldn’t disturb Logan, but Logan, he knew, was the only one who could get him something to do/let him do something. 

Roman climbed over the arm of the chair. There was a light thump as his feet hit the floor. If Logan heard it or had seen Roman climb out of the chair, he didn’t say anything. He continued to not say anything as Roman made his way to Logan’s side of the desk. He finally had to respond, however, when Roman’s voice came from his left, asking, “Up?” 

Logan turned to look at the boy, who had his arms raised up. Logan lifted him up and set him into his lap. “I suppose you want me to find you something to do?” Logan asked Roman, knowing it would be harder for him to focus with the hyperactive child in his lap. Roman’s response was an enthusiastic nod. “Do you have any books from school in your backpack that you could read?” Roman shook his head. “What about crayons?” Roman shook his head again. Logan sighed softly. 

“Can I go see daddy?” Roman asked suddenly, while Logan was thinking over what he could provide to entertain the boy. 

“Daddy has to focus on his work, too, Roman,” Logan said. “And I can’t take you down the stairs to see him, because I have to stay here and do my grown-up work.” 

“Not _that_ daddy,” Roman retorted, shocking Logan. 

“That’s... your only daddy,” Logan said carefully, hoping not to set the boy off. The divorce had only been about a month and a half ago, so Logan was sure the wound would still be fresh. He hadn’t considered that the situation might not have fully sunk in for Roman – despite his brothers’ absences from the apartment – since Ethan hadn’t been around much, in the end. 

Roman was looking at Logan curiously, as if wondering if Logan had forgotten that he had a second daddy. Because just because his daddy-with-the-burned-face didn’t live with them anymore didn’t mean that he wasn’t still his daddy. Just because his daddies didn’t love each other anymore didn’t mean that Roman had lost his daddy-with-the-burned-face. 

“You can’t go see him,” Logan had to tell the boy a bit firmly. 

“But I wanna. And I wanna see Remus and Virgil.” 

“You cannot,” Logan repeated. Logan could sense a tantrum coming on, however, if Roman squirming in his lap was anything to go by. 

“But I _wanna_.” Roman’s voice was louder, firmer. 

“I will call Patton and ask him if he’ll situate you at his desk.” Logan’s hand reached out towards the landline phone on his desk. 

“No!” Roman’s voice was even louder. “I wanna go see daddy!” Tears gathered in Roman’s eyes. “You’re supposed to be nice.” Roman pouted, crossing his arms. 

“I assure you that I _am_ nice, Roman. However, you cannot see Ethan, and that is a fact.” 

“You’re mean,” Roman repeated petulantly. 

“If you think I’m mean right now, I suppose that’s a price I have to pay for reinforcing what is fact.” Roman continued to pout. Then, he came up with an idea to go see his daddy. He stopped pouting and squirmed in Logan’s lap, to let him know he wanted to be put down. 

Logan obliged, and Roman was hopping off of his lap and speeding to and through the door of the room faster than a rocket. Logan groaned. At least Roman had left the door open behind him. 

Logan’s strides were long, as he got up and followed Roman. He knew where Ethan’s office was, but he was sure Roman did not. He’d have to find the boy before he got lost. 

Logan listened for the boy’s pounding footsteps. He heard them coming from the opposite hallway, where Ethan’s office was. 

Maybe Roman was smarter than Logan had given the six-year-old credit for. 

Logan followed the footsteps. Roman was running down the hallway with no clue where his actual destination was, that much Logan could tell. 

“Roman!” Logan whisper-yelled sternly, his voice carrying down the hallway regardless of its volume. Roman stopped in his tracks. Logan was quick to close the distance and scoop the boy into his arms. Roman was quick to squirm. “Why would you run off and disregard my request?” Roman knew he was in trouble, but he still didn’t stop squirming, firm in his want to see his father-with-the-burned-face. Logan, meanwhile, was walking back towards his office. 

“I wanted to see daddy and you wouldn’t let me,” Roman responded, pouting, not ceasing his squirming. 

“Running off and disobeying me was not a wise solution to your problem, Roman. You’re aware I’ll have to tell Patton this, right?” 

“No, don’t tell him!” 

“I have to.” 

“But you’re already getting me in trouble.” 

“I am doing no such thing. It is Patton’s job to determine a punishment for your acting out.” 

“I just wanted to see daddy.” 

“And I told you that you could not, but you still tried.” 

“If I behave until daddy comes to pick me up from your office, will you _pretty please_ not tell him?” 

“I _have_ to tell him, Roman.” 

“You’re mean. Put me down.” 

“If I put you down, you’ll go back to trying to find Ethan’s office, and I cannot allow that.” 

“He’s nicer than you.” Logan sighed. At least they’d arrived back at his office. Logan closed the door. He didn’t lock it, though the thought had crossed his mind to. He didn’t know if Roman would have been able to open a locked door. He probably could have.

Logan sat down, settling Roman into his lap, so he could resume his work. Roman continued to squirm. “Roman, please stop,” Logan told the boy. Roman didn’t. Logan reached out for the phone. He knew Roman was watching him to see what he would do. But only once Logan had picked up the phone did Roman stop squirming. 

“Don’t call him!” Roman pleaded again. 

“You’ve left me no choice, I’m afraid. You disrespected my authority, and your father needs to know." 

“You’re mean.” 

“That is a matter of opinion.” Roman pouted. Logan dialed the number for Patton’s desk and put the phone to his ear. Patton was quick to respond, his greeting professional. “It’s Logan.” 

“Hey, Logan,” Patton responded. “How’s Roman?” 

“That’s actually why I’m calling.” 

“Is he okay?” 

“He’s perfectly alright.” Roman blew a raspberry, as if in objection to Logan’s remark and as if Patton would hear it. “However, I felt that you should know that he disrespected my authority and ran out of my office in an attempt to find Ethan and pay him an unprompted visit.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You have no reason to apologize, Patton. This is not on you. This is on Roman.” 

“Ask him to apologize to you, then. And make sure he means it.” 

“Will that be the only disciplinary action you plan to take?” 

“I don’t want to punish him. I know the divorce was hard on him.” 

“I understand, Patton. But you should at least have another talk with him about why he can’t see Ethan.” 

“Okay. I will." 

“Don’t do it because I’m asking you to.” 

“I’ll do it because you’re right. I need to help him understand why what he did was wrong.” Logan nodded his agreement. “Do you think you’ll be okay watching over him for an hour, or should I try to settle him in at my desk?” 

“I think we’ll be okay.” Logan turned to look at Roman. “Right, Roman?” Roman blew another raspberry in response. “Your son is acting petulantly because he is upset with me.” 

“I’ll come get him, then.” Patton sighed. “You’re sure I can’t just take him to go see Ethan?” 

“Giving him what he wants is not an effective means of discipline. Nor would visiting Ethan be good for your mental health and your recovery from the divorce.” Patton sighed again, this one sadder. 

“Maybe it would help Roman understand better, if Ethan was the one to tell him that Roman couldn’t see him again, because he’s not family anymore.” 

“Patton,” Logan warned. 

“It might help. Ethan might be better at explaining it than me. He had to explain it to Remus and Virgil, after all.” 

“Patton." Logan's voice was a hint louder, still holding that warning tone. Patton sighed again. 

“Okay. I get it.” His tone was sadder. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Patton.” 

“I’m not upset.” 

“You sound-” The line clicked off. Logan supposed that was one way of avoiding the topic of conversation. “Patton will be here soon to take you to his desk for the remainder of his workday.” 

“You’re mean,” was all Roman said in response, turning his gaze towards the door. Soon enough, a knock sounded. 

“Come in.” Patton opened the door and stepped into the room. Logan set Roman on the ground. Roman walked sadly to his father. 

“Hey, kiddo!” Patton said cheerfully. “Why so glum?” He knew why. 

“Logan wouldn’t let me go see daddy. But you will, right?” Roman looked up at Patton with wide, hopeful eyes. 

“I can’t kiddo,” Patton responded sadly, scooping Roman into his arms. Roman went stiff in his grasp. Patton sighed. “You can’t be mad at me and Logan forever.” Patton walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, not giving Logan the chance to correct his improper grammar. 

“Yes I can.” Roman continued to pout. But he didn’t squirm in Patton’s arms, since Patton had to take him back down the stairs. When they got back to Patton’s desk, Patton sat down with Roman in his lap. 

“I know you’re mad at me, but would you like to help me with my work?” 

“Help with what?” 

“I need to count all of these papers before I put them in this file.” No he didn’t. “You’re smart. I know you can do it.” 

“Why should I help you? You’re mean.” 

“It’s good to be kind to those who are mean to you, as well, even if it seems like they don’t deserve it.” 

“Why?” 

“Because being kind is the good thing to do. Being kind makes you friends. Being kind makes adults think you’re really smart for not hurting someone else.” 

“Why would I want to be friends with someone mean?” Patton wasn’t getting any work done, but he knew this discussion was just as important as the one he’d have to have with Roman later about Ethan. 

“Sometimes, people are mean because they don’t have any friends. If you’re nice to them, they might be nice to you back. Sometimes, people are mean because something bad happened to them, and they don’t want anything else bad to happen. But if you’re kind, you can show them that nothing bad will happen to them when they’re with you.” 

“But you have friends and you’re not nice to me.” 

“I'm nice to you a lot more than I've been mean to you. But I understand that you’re upset with me right now, because Logan and I teamed up against you and didn’t give you what you wanted. Sometimes, though, we can’t do that. Sometimes what you want isn’t good for you.” 

“Why wouldn’t seeing daddy be good for me? I love him.” 

“And he loves you. But he doesn’t love me. And seeing your daddies possibly fight wouldn’t be good for you at all.” 

“Why would you fight?” 

“Because sometimes, your other daddy can be mean. And since he doesn’t like me because we separated, he might decide to be mean to me. He might say bad things about me because he’s upset, just like you are right now.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, daddy.” 

“It’s okay, kiddo. Now, do you think you can forgive me for upsetting you and help me with my work?” Roman hesitated a moment, but then he nodded. “Thank you, Roman. I appreciate it.” 

From there, Patton and Roman began counting several documents together, the time ticking away until Patton and Roman could go home for the evening. 


	12. Mother's Day - the Roman (age 6) edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton Sanders & Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Logan Sanders, some OC’s, Mother’s Day, school, crafting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on Mother's Day (in the U.S. this year), so let's just ignore that this is being posted in October lol
> 
> (There's a little heteronormative B.S. in this chapter, but it had to be done, unfortunately)
> 
> And I guess you'll need the context that comes from one of the chapters I deleted: Logan knows Spanish, and he taught it to Roman.
> 
> I don't know if this quite fits in with the canonical Logan/Patton timeline I established in ["A look at Patton & Logan's evolving relationship"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26407984) but I think it's close enough, and I just really like this chapter. I've been looking forward to posting it (and another that's coming in a couple weeks) for a while.
> 
> (Do y'all actually read these notes? "Comment below, because the human connection will make me feel like a person again." - Thomas Sanders, DWIT)

“Mother’s Day is this weekend, so we’re going to spend today’s craft hour making anything you’d like for your mothers,” Roman’s first-grade teacher told her students. “I can help you make Mother’s Day cards, your handprints, or a drawing, if you’d like. You all know where the supplies are, but remember that I have the scissors and you have to ask me first. Remember that markers must stay on the paper. If you accidentally get it on the table, let me know and we can clean it up, but I’ll know if it wasn’t an accident or if you purposefully drew on yourself or another student. Do you remember what the punishment for that is?” A couple of the students’ hands shot into the air. Roman’s wasn’t one of them, though he did know the answer. He was a little more focused on thinking about what he would make. But then he realized that he didn’t have a mother. 

Roman had Patton, his father, and Logan. But Logan wasn’t his mother. A man couldn’t be a mother. Plus, Logan wasn’t married to his daddy. He raised his hand, hoping that the teacher hadn’t asked another question that he heard. 

“Yes, Roman?” she asked. He looked a little hesitant before he spoke, as if he needed to collect his words. As if he was embarrassed to admit what he was going to say. 

“What if... I don’t have a mother?” he asked. His teacher had met “both” of his fathers at the beginning of the year conference, and his friends had met his “two” fathers when they’d hung out at his house, but none of his other classmates knew. He hoped they didn’t think he was weird. He hoped they wouldn’t try to ask him what happened to his mother. 

He knew he was adopted. He knew he must’ve had a mother before then, but he couldn’t remember her. He could only remember Patton and Ethan, then Patton and Logan. 

“You can make something for your daddies,” the teacher told Roman. She’d crouched by him and lowered her voice, talking to him while the other students were too focused on crafting to overhear. 

“But Logan isn’t my daddy yet,” Roman responded. 

“I’m sure he feels like it, though. He might appreciate it.” Roman nodded. 

“But they’re not mothers.” 

“No. But because you don’t have a mother, they have to take on the motherly duties. Right? They cook and clean, and other things that mothers typically do?” Roman nodded again. “So you can make them something that says ‘Happy Mother’s Day,’ and I’m sure they’d understand.” Roman nodded. “Did you have any ideas? I know you’ve got a creative brain in that head of yours.” 

“Can I have a pair scissors?” 

“What for?” 

“I want to make a snowflake like we did for winter, but it says ‘Happy Mother’s Day.’” 

“Just don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work out, okay?” 

“It won’t work?” He already sounded disappointed. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that the letters have to have something called symmetry – they have to be exactly the same, if you drew a line down the middle, on both sides. Some of those letters aren’t.” Roman nodded glumly. 

“Then I don’t have any other ideas.” 

“How about I bring you a stack of paper, the large letter stencils, and the scissors, and you can make them a giant sign?” 

“How?” 

“You could cut each letter out with different colored paper, then I can put some string through it. Maybe Logan will help you hang it up for your daddy. But you can tell him it’s for him, too. What do you think?” 

“Can I color the letters, too?” 

“You can color, draw, doodle, anything you’d like on the letters.” Roman’s mood seemed to lift. 

“Okay. I’ll do that, then.” The teacher nodded, standing up. Roman ran off to grab a pack of markers from the crafts closet, along with three sheets of all of the different colored paper (red, orange, yellow, green, light blue, dark blue, purple, pink, brown, white, and black). He wasn’t sure if it would be enough. Or if he wanted to use all of the colors. His favorite was red, and he knew his daddy and Logan liked the different shades of blue. 

When Roman returned to his desk, a pair of scissors and a stack of large letters were sitting there. Roman wrote out the phrase “Happy Mother’s Day” on one of the white sheets of paper, to see how many of the different colors he would actually need. He didn’t want to use the brown or the black or the orange or the yellow. Then he had an idea. 

He’d learned that red and blue mixed to make purple, so he thought of arranging the colors by red, light blue, dark blue, then purple over and over until he’d made the whole phrase. He got up to put the other colors back where he found them, then grabbed more red, blues, and purple, based on how many letters he’d counted in the phrase. 

He was careful when he used the black marker to trace each of the letters he needed. He didn’t want any stray lines. He didn’t want to accidentally trace a letter on the wrong color paper. 

Once he’d traced all the letters and cut them out, he drew on them. He used yellow marker to make stripes on the red letters. He’d thought it would look more yellow, but it just looked orange. He loved gold. 

His hand shot into the air. The teacher came over to him and asked him what he needed help with. 

“Do we have a gold marker?” he asked her, showing her how the yellow marker just looked orange on the red paper. 

“There are no gold markers,” she told him. “But if you ask the TA, he can help you with gold glitter.” Roman’s eyes lit up. 

“Glitter?” 

“Yes. But it’s messy, so you and the TA will have to go outside and work on that. Go talk to him. He’ll get you what you need.” 

“What about silver glitter?” Roman asked, already thinking ahead to how he would decorate his daddy’s letters. 

“Yes, there’s some of that, too. Again, you’ll just have to talk to the TA.” 

“When I’m done with all these letters, then.” The teacher nodded. 

“Anything else, Roman?” He shook his head. She walked off to the next student, wearing a fond smile. Roman went back to his letters. He gave them all the same stripes he’d given the red letters, but the light blue letters had gray stripes, which would be covered in silver glitter. The dark blue letters had black stripes. They looked like a tie Logan like to wear, Roman thought, though that hadn’t been his intention when he’d started the design. 

For the purple letters, he was stumped. If the red letters represented him and the blue letters represented Logan and Patton, then the purple represented all of them. What color stripes could he give letters that represented all of them. Gold, silver, and black didn’t mix to make anything, he thought. But he didn’t want to leave the letters blank. He wanted to give them stripes, too. 

Finally, he decided on giving the purple letters thinner stripes in all three of the colors. He started with the yellow (which would become gold), then the gray (which would become silver), then the black, careful not to deviate from his pattern. 

Roman cleaned up his desk before walking up to the TA, who sat at the single computer desk that the first-graders never used. Roman hadn’t ever seen the TA use it, either, but Roman knew he must have. 

“What can I do for you, Roman?” the TA asked. 

“Can you help me with glitter? Miss May said I could use it for my letters-” Roman showed the TA his stack, “-if you agreed to come outside and help me.” 

“Sure, Roman.” The TA smiled at him. Go ahead and go outside. I’ll grab what we need. Roman nodded. He dashed outside, aware of how some of the students looked up when they heard him open the door. He laid out the letters along the sidewalk, knowing that they wouldn’t fly away because it wasn’t windy. 

The TA joined Roman outside with two cylindrical tubes of glitter and a bottle of glue. “I’ll have to do this part, so tell me what color you want where,” the TA told Roman. 

“I want the gold on the orange stripes on the red letters,” Roman said first. He knew the TA would need time to get that done before he moved onto the other letters. Roman watched him work, fascinated as he squeezed glue onto the stripes, then dumped glitter. “Then silver on the grey stripes on the light blue letters.” 

“While I do that, shake the extra glitter into the grass.” Roman nodded. He was very careful as he lifted the first letter and tilted it over the grass so the extra glitter would fall. When Roman set it back down, he stared at it, amazed by his work, before he grabbed the next letter. 

He’d finished all but two letters when the TA had finished with the silver glitter. “Then I want both colors on the purple,” Roman said as he shook the glitter off another letter. “There’s brown stripes where the gold should go and gray stripes where the silver should go.” The TA nodded. 

“When you finish that letter-” Roman was on the last of the red letters, “-you can shake off the silver glitter.” Roman nodded. The two worked on their own things. The TA did the gold stripes first, then had Roman shake the extra glitter off before moving onto the silver glitter. Soon enough, that was done, too. Roman admired their work. 

“Thank you,” Roman said, as he picked up all the letters in order. 

“Of course. What’s next, Roman?” 

“Miss Mary said she’d help me with string.” 

“How about I help you with that?” 

“You know what she thought?” 

“I think so. And this way, she can focus on helping your other classmates when they need her.” Roman nodded. 

“Okay.” Roman was the first through the door to the classroom. He took the letters back to his desk while the TA put the glue and glitter away and asked the teacher what she’d had in mind for Roman’s craft. He walked over to Roman’s desk a little bit later with a spool of white yarn, some weird metal thing (it was a hole puncher, but Roman didn’t know what it was called, as he’d never seen one before), and a pair of scissors. 

Roman watched as the TA used the metal thing to put a hole in the top of each of his letters. It was Roman’s job to pull the yarn through all the letters. They did this on the floor of the classroom. 

Roman had to stick the tip in his mouth so it would fit, the TA advised him. Roman was allowed to space out the letters as he liked, what he thought looked good. Then the TA cut the yarn, separating what Roman had strung through his letters and what remained on the spool. “Ta da,” the TA said with a smile. 

“Thank you,” Roman said after. The TA nodded. He helped Roman pick up and stack the stringed letters, next putting them in his backpack so he could take them home. Then the TA went back to his computer desk and Roman did his homework for the remaining fifteen minutes of craft hour. He knew it was over when the school bell rang. It not only signaled the end of craft hour, but also the end of the school day. He helped his friends pack up their own art supplies before they all walked out together. 

Roman walked his friends over to their respective parents before he walked over to his babysitter. His fathers must have had to start working later again, like they’d told him they might. 

The babysitter was a high schooler, Roman knew, but she couldn’t yet drive. They had to walk to Roman’s house. She had the key to let them in. 

“So, Roman,” she asked as she fixed him a snack in the kitchen. He was sat at the dining room table, watching her as she made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, using his favorite flavor of Crofters jam. “How was school?” 

“We made stuff for Mother’s Day,” he responded happily. It was the event most fresh in his mind. 

“You made something for your daddies?” 

“I made ‘em a sign. Can we hang it up after snack time?” 

“Sure, kiddo.” She set the sandwich, cut in half diagonally, in front of him. “I've got some work I have to do while you eat, okay? But let me know when you’re done and I’ll wash your plate then we can hang your sign.” Roman swallowed a bite of his sandwich. 

“Thank you,” he told her with a smile. She nodded. She walked into the living room to grab her backpack. She came back into the dining room and pulled out a notebook, a textbook, and a binder. 

“What are you working on?” Roman asked her after swallowing another bite. He hoped she hadn’t already started and he was distracting her. She kept her eyes on the page in her textbook as she answered. 

“High school homework. Speaking of, is yours done?” 

“It is. I promise.” 

“I trust you. But if one of your daddies tells me I was wrong to, that’ll upset me.” 

“I promise,” Roman said again. He finished up his sandwich while his babysitter did her homework. Even after he’d finished, he couldn’t help but watch her from across the table. He waited for her to finish her homework and put her homework away before he got up from the table and grabbed the sign from his backpack. She’d washed his plate, dried it, and put it back in the cupboard while he did that. 

“Where do you want to hang it?” she asked him as he unstacked it along the perimeter of the dining room table. 

“I want them to see it when they walk inside.” 

“We can see if it’s long enough to hang over the entryway into the dining room. Do you know if your daddies have a ladder?” Roman shrugged. “Alright. What about tape?” Roman nodded. 

“It's in Daddy’s work desk in their room.” The babysitter nodded. 

“Grab me a chair from the dining room while I look, please?” Roman nodded, rushing into the dining room. The babysitter felt awkward opening the door to Patton and Logan’s room and stepping inside, but she made sure she was quick as she found the small tape dispenser in one of the drawers of Patton’s work desk. 

When she emerged, Roman had slid a chair into the living room. She hoped he hadn’t left any skid marks along the carpet. It didn’t look like it. _Maybe he’d smoothed them over with his foot?_ “Thank you,” she told him. She took a couple pieces of tape off the tape dispenser, sticking them to a couple of her fingers, before climbing on top of the chair. 

“Don’t follow my example on this,” she told him. 

“I promise.” He held up one end of the sign towards her. She grabbed it. 

“Walk back so I can see how long the sign is?” Roman nodded, following her instructions. She tried to mentally picture how she would have to hang up the sign. Roman had to step closer as she moved her arm further along the wall. She used one of the pieces of tape to stick the sign to the wall. “Now walk behind the chair and bring me the other end of the sign.” Roman did as she asked, and she taped the other end of the sign onto the wall. “What do you think?” 

Roman walked around her to stand by the front door. He craned his neck to look up at the sign as the babysitter stepped down from the chair. She walked over to stand next to him. “I like it,” he said. 

“I agree. You did a good job on it, kiddo.” 

“Thank you. But I had help.” 

“Of course.” 

*** 

When Patton and Logan got home later that evening, the babysitter stepped out of the house to greet them. Logan handed her a check for the week. She had a smile on her face, but that was more due to the surprise waiting inside for the fathers than the number written on the check. 

“What is it?” Logan asked her. He could sense that something was up. 

“You’ll see...” she responded with a mischievous smile and a wave as she walked off. Patton and Logan watched her go, walking down the street to her house and stepping inside it, before they stepped inside their own house. 

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Roman cried out, spreading his arms up toward where the sign hung. Patton couldn’t help but smile. 

“Mother’s Day isn’t for-” Logan began, stopping speaking when Patton knocked their shoulders together. 

“I made this in class for both of you, even though you’re not mommies,” Roman informed them. "Do you like it?” 

“We love it, Ro,” Patton told his son. He wrapped the boy in a hug. Logan hesitantly joined in. 

“It’s very nice, Roman,” Logan said. “The glitter is a nice touch. But I’m not your father or your mother.” 

“Not yet,” Roman said with a smile, pulling away from the hug. Logan and Patton couldn’t help but smile, too. 

“Did you ask Estefanie to hang it up?” Logan asked in Spanish. 

“Sí,” Roman responded. _Yes_. 

“She did a nice job,” Logan told him, still in Spanish. Patton stood there still, though he couldn’t understand a majority of what they were saying. 

“I’ll start on dinner,” Patton finally said. When he walked out of the room, Logan and Roman were free to converse in Spanish as much as they pleased. And they did, Patton could hear. 

He didn’t feel excluded by it. He thought it was nice that they had this way to bond. ~~If he _did_ decide to marry Logan someday, it would be nice that Roman already thought of him as a father. ~~

Patton was happy as he made dinner for his family. In that moment he did sort of feel like a mother. But he was a “mother” who had a wonderful son and a wonderful... whatever Logan was to him, at this point. He was happy with his family. He loved them very much, and he knew he had their love (in one way or another) in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, I think I'm starting to get tired of this universe. I've deleted a bunch of chapters from my draft of this work because I no longer like them. Of course, I'll still take requests if you have any, but I think I'm ready to move on from this universe (in another couple months or however long it takes me to post all the chapters still remaining in my drafts that I haven't looked at recently and decided to delete). 
> 
> I'm probably going to start posting that really long fic I referenced in like chapter one that's been living in my head rent free for a while now. It's got a bit to do with magic (it's a modern with magic au and college au, and it's Logan-centric narration), so it's kinda perfect for spooky month. So, I guess if that's something that interests you, keep a look out for it today or tomorrow. (I'm not in the best headspace today, and I've got a lot to do other than post this chapter, so...)


	13. That could have been a cat-astrophe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders/Logan Sanders, Kid!Roman, one mention of kidnapping (but no one actually is), cats, fleas, implied sexual content?, medication mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, the title is a pun.)
> 
> This was inspired by a rp prompt on [Tumblr](https://justanotherrpmeme.tumblr.com/post/124763113520/) (I follow a rp memes page and use them as writing prompts sometimes): “The child finds a stray animal and brings it home.”

“Dads, dads, look!” a ten-year-old Roman called into his house, one Saturday afternoon. He’d been playing outside on his own – though his fathers were periodically peeking outside the various windows in the house to assure that he hadn’t been kidnapped off the street. More often than not, they could see him outside. He’d disappeared for a while, Patton had noticed, but Logan had assured his husband that Roman would be alright. He said that if they didn’t see Roman when one of them looked out again in fifteen minutes, they would go out searching for him. 

Lucky for all of them, it hadn’t needed to come to that. Because right when Patton was going to peek outside his bedroom window, he heard the front door opening and his son’s voice. Patton rushed into the living room, where he knew Roman would be waiting for him with whatever he found. Logan was quick to follow, when Patton let out a squeal. 

In his arms, scrawny Roman Sanders held a grey, white, and orange Calico cat. The cat looked to be an adult cat, but it had no collar around its neck. And yet, it was relaxed in Roman’s arms. As if Roman had been building up the cat’s trust over the weeks in the hopes of convincing his fathers to finally let him get a pet. 

He’d been begging for one for a couple years now. He’d wanted a dog, at first, since it would be an animal to play with, just like he’d always played with Remus. Of course, the playing wouldn’t be the same, but it already wasn’t, without his twin. 

Now, it seemed, Roman wanted a cat. 

Patton sneezed, and the cat in Roman’s arms quickly looked up at Patton, mewing as if to ask if he was still alive. Roman, too, looked up, to see Patton’s eyes filling with tears. He hoped they were good tears - happy tears - at the prospect of taking in this stray, instead of sad tears at the fact that the stray would have to remain a stray. 

Patton slowly approached Roman and the cat in his arms. 

“Patton,” Logan hissed. Patton froze about a foot away from Roman. “What are you doing? You’re allergic.” 

“You’re allergic?” Roman asked, lips turning down in a frown. He knew he wouldn’t get to keep this cute kitten. He’d already fallen in love with it. Of course he had. He’d hoped this plan would work. 

“I a-am,” Patton stuttered, fighting to hold back a sneeze. But he sneezed immediately after he stopped speaking. The cat in Roman’s arms startled slightly. Roman gently pet the top of its head to soothe it. “But I’ve always wanted a cat.” Patton turned to Logan, as if to plead with him. Patton knew he could take allergy medication to help cope. He knew he mostly had to be careful not to let it scratch or bite him. 

“No, Patton,” Logan responded. “I already know what you’re thinking, and I know you’d forget, were I not to remind you. Not to mention that this cat is a stray and may likely have fleas or worms or something of a similar nature that would require a visit to the veterinarian for a checkup and potential treatment. Spending money on that - while we can afford it - isn’t a calculated part of the household budget.” 

“Fleas?” Patton asked, taking a step back from Roman and the cat. The cat, too, seemed confused at the prospect that it might have fleas, or why that would make it undesirable. After all, hadn’t these humans _seen_ it? Its coat, while a little bit matted, was beautiful. Plus, it was perfectly calm in Roman’s arms. No biting, no hissing, nothing. It was a cuddler . It wouldn’t ever hurt them. _So what if the bubbly adult human was allergic?_

“We cannot keep the cat, Roman,” Logan said, his tone final. Roman and Patton, both, pouted, directing similar puppy dog stares his way. “A cat would be a monetary drain on this household, due to Patton’s allergy medication and potential veterinary bills alone. I understand that you wish to have a pet, but we will not be taking in a stray you found on the street.” The cat seemed a bit offended at being called a stray, as if it could understand what the serious adult human meant. 

“So we could take in a pet from the shelter, then?” Roman asked, eyes lighting up with hope, as he moved on to the next thing. He turned away from his family only to open the front door and deposit the cat outside with an, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was hoping it’d work out, too.” The cat seemed sad as it walked away from the Sanders’ household. Patton and Roman, both, were also saddened. 

“We could not take in a cat, due to your father’s allergy, but were you to prove that you were responsible enough, showing me that you can complete your chores without complaint – since taking care of a pet adds more chores to your list – and that you can save your money so you can chip in for necessities for the animal, I might consider it.” 

“You _might_ consider it?” 

“Yes, I might. And that’s the end of this discussion.” 

“What if I make a PowerPoint with all the benefits of having a pet and the estimated monthly cost and stuff?” Logan seemed to perk up a bit at the mention of a PowerPoint. He _did_ enjoy learning, after all. 

“We’ll _see_ , Roman.” Roman pouted. “Have you finished playing outside, or do you wish to go back out there?” 

“I’m done.” Roman was still pouting. 

“Then go take a shower. Put your clothes in your hamper and I can start laundry as soon as you’re done. Patton, you’ll take a shower after Roman.” 

“Just me?” Patton asked teasingly. 

“Gross!” Roman whined, clapping his hands over his ears and running out of the room, not wanting to know what his fathers did when he wasn’t around. 

“Patton, I didn’t know you made jokes like that,” Logan responded to Patton’s question. 

“I’m best friends with Remy. You’ve met him.” 

“That I have.” Logan smiled at Patton fondly. “But to answer your question, no. It’ll be just you.” 

“What if I...” Patton came closer to Logan. “Hug you?” He didn’t though. Not yet, if Logan decided to give him permission to. 

“Please don’t. Not that I don’t enjoy your hugs, I simply don’t enjoy the prospect of you temporarily transferring fleas to me and altering my schedule for the day by causing me to no longer need to take a shower tonight.” Patton pouted. 

“Okay,” he whined, stepping away from Logan again. “I love you.” 

“And I, you. But please don’t go lay or sit anywhere until you’ve showered.” 

“Then what will I do?” 

“You could make lunch.” 

“You’re not worried about the fleas jumping into our food?” 

“I’m sure they won’t.” 

“Okay.” Patton turned away from Logan to go walk into the kitchen. Logan could hear the shower water start up, as well as Patton digging around in the fridge. 

Logan didn’t mean to disappoint his family. He knew they were prone to thinking with their hearts rather than their heads, sometimes, so he needed to make sure to constantly be thinking with his head so as to keep them safe, happy, and healthy (though, sometimes, as anyone knows, happy and healthy may be hard to achieve if there are outside forces fighting against you). 

Maybe someday Logan would cave and would let his family get a pet. And if not, Roman would likely get one as soon as he moved out of his fathers’ house. Only time would tell. 


	14. Father's Day - the Remus and Virgil (ages 10 and 13) edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil Sanders, Remus Sanders, Janus Sanders (named Ethan), Kid!Remus Sanders, Teen!Virgil Sanders, anxiety mention, father’s day, breakfast, food mention, I think this is the only instance I’ve ever truly captured Remus’ chaotic energy properly, fluff, (angst if you squint)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I get to post my favorite one I've written

Growing up in the Lee’s house, Virgil and Remus came to appreciate the hard work their father did for them. Even if he was working late into the night – either at the law firm or in his bedroom – they learned, as they got a better sense of the capitalistic world they lived in, that it was a lot of hard work and money to raise two growing boys. They knew their father was making sacrifices to keep them. 

As Virgil was the oldest, not to mention ridden with anxiety and constantly overthinking everything, he was the one who learned this first. And father’s day evolved from a holiday where teachers would force their students to make ugly crafts with no other explanation than “It’s a day for your father, you should make him something,” to a holiday where Virgil could express his gratitude for everything Ethan had done for both him and Remus over the years. 

Because raising two boys on his own after a divorce was surely hard. Trying to pretend like he wasn’t torn apart and putting on a strong façade so his grieving boys would have his arms to fall and cry into, was surely hard. Virgil couldn’t even begin to imagine it. All he knew was that the holiday was gaining a lot more merit. 

At first, he still made cards, but he didn’t half-ass them, anymore. Before, he would write “Happy Father’s Day” in block letters and color them in with different patterns. When he was really little, he would draw his stick figure family – though back then, it had also included another father and another brother. (The year before the divorce, Logan had received his own card, but neither family discusses this.) 

Now, at thirteen years old, Virgil tried to draw a portrait of his father. He had to rely on his memory, since his father wasn’t a fan of pictures (because of the burn mark covering half his face). And it was certainly rough. Virgil couldn’t quite remember the shape of his father’s face or his nose. He couldn’t remember if his father had a widow’s peak or how long his hair was beneath his signature hat. 

Virgil didn’t know how many failed attempts he’d crumbled up (and would have burned, if he knew where the lighter was. Ethan had put it somewhere neither of the boys could find it. Remus was in his burning things phase, and his single use of the lighter before Virgil had had to take it away had almost set the younger boy’s room ablaze). He didn’t know how many failed attempts it took before he gave up on drawing the portrait. He could draw something else, he knew – his drawing skills were certainly getting better – but at the same time, he didn’t have the slightest idea of what else to draw or how many failed attempts of that he would make before he was either satisfied or he quit that, too. 

He came up with a whole new plan. He could make his father breakfast. He knew how to make all sorts of dinner foods, since it was often his job to make dinner for the family. Breakfast wasn’t his area of expertise – their father had always whipped them up some kind of breakfast, since he would have to drop them both off at school before work – but Virgil was capable of following instructions, a recipe. And he knew he could enlist Remus’ help. They could tag-team a gift for their father for father’s day. 

And when Virgil presented his plan to Remus, Remus seemed to be in agreement. He was willing to help, even though Virgil told him he wouldn’t be allowed near the stove (which drew a pout from the boy, but Virgil had learned from Ethan not to fall victim to the appeal of it - even if Virgil’s anxiety made him want to keep everyone else happy). 

Virgil was awake early that morning, courtesy of Remus barging into his room and jumping on his bed until he grumbled and opened his eyes. Remus was an early riser, and perhaps it was this part of Virgil’s plan that had led to the younger boy’s agreement. 

Remus continued to jump on the bed. He would continue to do so until Virgil got up, even if Virgil spent a long time before then glaring at his brother, groggy and hating the world because he was up so early. At least he knew how to work the coffeemaker. 

He climbed out of the bouncing bed, a little unsteady on his feet. Remus jumped on the bed a few more times for good measure, the springs of the mattress creaking beneath his weight. He then jumped _off_ the bed and ran out of the room, leaving Virgil to trudge behind him, staring regretfully back at his bed. 

When Virgil arrived in the kitchen, Remus was standing there, back ramrod straight but leg bouncing with energy and excitement, waiting for Virgil’s instructions. “Start on some scrambled eggs, will you?” Virgil asked, ~~knowing~~ _hoping_ his brother knew how to make that. It was something simple. It was one of the very first things Ethan had taught Virgil to make. He’d been younger than Remus when that happened. 

Virgil trusted his brother would ask him if he needed help. They crowded in front of the fridge so Remus could grab the carton of eggs and the gallon of milk, and Virgil could grab bacon and hash browns (though the latter came from the freezer above the fridge, which Virgil was able to grab once Remus had ducked away to a counter with the items he needed for the scrambled eggs). 

Virgil started up the coffeemaker, then started cooking both the bacon and the hash browns in the same pan, the sizzling bacon fat providing grease for the hash browns. He wasn’t quite able to settle into his task, though, the urge to check in on Remus growing stronger as the minutes passed. So, finally, he gave in and did so. 

He turned around to his brother cracking eggs into a bowl filled with eggs and egg shells. Wait. _Egg shells?_ Virgil groaned. 

“Please tell me the absurd amount of egg shells is in there because you accidentally dropped them in there when you cracked the eggs and you plan on fishing them out before scrambling them,” Virgil said, silently pleading that he was right – that it was an accident – but knowing he was wrong. A part of him dreaded his chaotic brother’s response. 

“You’re telling me you don’t like your eggs crunchy?” Remus responded, a wide grin on his face. Virgil wanted to bang his head against a wall. Out of all the responses his brother could have given him, _this_ was one he _hadn’t_ anticipated. 

“No one does!” Virgil huffed out. “We have never _once_ made crunchy eggs in this family.” 

“Maybe _you_ haven’t,” Remus grumbled, pouting. Virgil groaned again. 

“Please just... _remove_ the egg shells.” Virgil’s voice was tense as he tried to hold back his anger, as he tried not to blow up at his brother and wake up their father. But it was already too late for that. 

“What’s going on in here?” Ethan’s voice drawled from somewhere out of Virgil’s line of sight. Then, Ethan stepped into the room, taking in the state of the kitchen. It wasn’t messy, but Virgil’s bacon and hash browns were starting to smoke because he’d redirected his focus from that to his brother and the crunchy eggs, and of course, Ethan noticed the crunchy eggs. 

The boys looked up at their father as he stepped into the kitchen and dealt with Virgil’s bacon and hash browns. “What? Dad!” Vigil protested, abandoning Remus to join his father at the stove. “We’re making breakfast for _you_. You can’t help.” 

“You were close to burning down our kitchen, Virgil. I already have one fire-loving problem child. I don’t need any more burns on my skin.” Virgil dipped his head in shame. 

“I’m sorry, Father,” he muttered sadly. “I just wanted to do something nice for you for father’s day. I couldn’t get my drawing quite right.” 

“That explains all the crumpled balls of paper in your wastebasket.” Virgil nodded, eyes returning to the ground afterwards. “Let me help you make breakfast. The memory of making breakfast with the two of you will be a good enough gift for me.” Virgil looked back up at his father, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Ethan patted his son on the head fondly, before stepping away to deal with Remus and his crunchy eggs. After that was taken care of, Ethan let his boys make breakfast on their own, only stepping in to help either of them when they looked like they needed it. He served up his own plate of food, once it was finished, and joined his sons at the dining room table. 

“Thank you both for doing this,” Ethan told them before taking a sip of hot black coffee. 

“Happy father’s day,” both boys responded in unison, Virgil’s voice soft, whereas Remus’ was at the same volume you might yell “Surprise!” at a surprise party when the guest of honor walked through the door. Ethan smiled fondly around his fork of (not crunchy) scrambled eggs. 

The breakfast had turned out good, despite its rough beginning, and the family enjoyed it. They enjoyed spending the meal together, talking and smiling and overall having a good time. Ethan knew this day was a memory he would cherish forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure I should let you guys know that next week's update is going to be a day late. You'll see why then.


	15. This is Halloween (Halloween, Halloween)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil Sanders, Janus Sanders (named Ethan), Remus Sanders, Halloween, shopping, spider mention, anxiety, Kid!Virgil, Kid!Remus, (angst if you squint)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your regularly-chronological chapters to go back in time for a special Halloween moment that I am purposely posting on Halloween, a day later than I usually would
> 
> (And yes, the chapter title is a Nightmare Before Christmas reference.)

Going to the local superstore always made Virgil anxious - even now that he was ten years old (“double digits”). It was not only the size of the place, but the massive amount of people in the place at any given time: other families shopping for groceries, kids running through the snack aisles in search of some sweet treat, overly friendly retail workers, those beeping vehicles that carried large boxes... It was a bit of Virgil being wary of other people, but also a bit of all the noises in the place filtering into his ears and ramming against his skull until his head felt like it was going to explode. 

Virgil had told Ethan this, and Ethan was understanding of it. Unfortunately, the boy’s father said that he didn’t feel comfortable leaving Virgil home alone. He always promised that every trip would be quick. 

Ethan would maintain a tight – but not painfully so – grip on Remus’s hand so the young, energetic boy wouldn’t run off, get lost, and send Ethan and Virgil on a manhunt for him. Virgil would maintain a tight grip on Ethan’s hand each time Ethan let go of the shopping cart. The family of three would walk through the store together, only stopping when it was necessary – even if it was Christmas season and Remus wanted to go look at all the pretty lights hanging on the large trees in the outdoor section of the superstore. 

Currently, it was October. Early October. But that didn’t stop the superstore from setting up Christmas displays in the outdoor section. Nor did it stop the superstore from stocking Halloween- and Christmas-themed clothing in the clothing sections. Nor did it stop the superstore from hanging a sign from the ceiling of one section in the interior store, announcing “Halloween Central.” 

Upon their entrance to the superstore, Virgil was too far away to read the words on the bright orange sign hanging some distance away, but he knew what it meant. This time, _he_ was the one pulling on his father’s hand – maintaining his own tight grip on it, though he didn't have the strength to pull along his father, much less his father and his younger brother. 

“If I let go of your hand to grab a shopping cart, will you _please_ wait for me before running off to the Halloween section?” Ethan asked his older son, already knowing what could possibly make him so eager to venture deeper into the large superstore. 

“No promises,” Virgil retorted, wearing a smirk. Ethan sighed. Of course, his son had picked up his sharp tongue. 

“I mean it, Virgil,” he said, a bit more sternly. “I don’t want you getting lost.” 

“No promises,” Virgil repeated. Ethan turned to his younger son, then, and posed the same question. 

“No promises,” Remus mimicked, smiling wide. Ethan groaned. 

“Fine,” he relented. “ _But_ ,” he emphasized, “you’ll both be helping me carry _all_ the groceries.” 

“I’ll wait,” the boys were immediate to chorus. At this, _Ethan_ smirked. He let go of Virgil’s hand, keeping him in his sight as he pulled a shopping cart from the bunch. 

Virgil had a bit of a pep in his step as the trio walked over to the Halloween section – as if his enthusiasm for Halloween overrode any fear of the superstore. 

The trio walked into the first aisle of the section: the candy section. This had Remus pulling at Ethan’s hand, probably wanting to grab as much of the candy he could carry and shove it into the cart, as if Ethan would let him eat it all. (They weren’t a stay-at-home-and-hand-out-candy family. They were a trick-or-treating family. They didn’t need the candy.) 

Ethan kept Remus at his side. Virgil stayed there as well, but his eyes were wide and filled with wonder as he looked at the candy bowls and Halloween decorations on the opposite side of the aisle. Suddenly, he broke apart from his family, shooting across the aisle and grabbing something off the shelf. He held it up, knowing his father was looking to see where he’d gone. 

“Can I get this, please?” he asked, widening his eyes the way Patton had taught him and he hadn’t forgotten. The “this” in question was a medium-sized, fuzzy, black spider made of wire and whatever else. 

“What use do you have for a decorative spider?” Ethan asked in response. 

“It looks nice?” Virgil tried, jutting out his lower lip, putting his pouting face into full effect. “Please?” he whined, after his father had been silent for a while. 

“If I get you one, I’ll have to get your brother one.” Remus perked up at the idea. 

“Can I get a really big one?” Remus asked. “With big, red eyes and sharp, pointy teeth?” Ethan shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “See?” Virgil sighed and set the spider back on the shelf. Then, he returned to his father’s side, his posture more slouched than before. 

Ethan led the trio to the next aisle of the section: the costumes section. Costumes on both sides of the aisle. Men’s, women’s, and children's costumes all on display. Virgil’s eyes returned to their widened, taking-everything-in-enthusiastically state. 

“Remus,” Ethan said to his youngest son, “I’m going to let go of your hand now, so you can look at the costumes, but I don’t want you leaving my eyesight, okay?” Remus nodded his head quickly. “I need you to promise me, Remus.” 

“Promise!” Remus responded, holding up his pinky. Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. He would deny that his hand shook as he lifted it from the shopping cart and wrapped his finger around Remus’ smaller one. When he let go of Remus’ hand, both of the boys zoomed across the aisle to look at the children’s costumes on display. Ethan watched over them both carefully, not wanting to lose them. 

He watched Remus stand on the very tips of his toes and pull several of the costumes off of the racks to look at them more closely, his hand tracing over the image of the kid in whatever costume had caught the boy’s eyes. Virgil was doing much of the same, though he didn’t have to stand on the tips of his toes too much. He was quite tall for his age, but you’d never know it from his usually-slouched posture. 

Virgil swiped a costume from a rack and ran back to his father. “Look!” he said, holding it high so his father could see it. 

Ethan looked at the [ image ](https://inst-1.cdn.shockers.de/hs_cdn/out/pictures/master/product/1/glitzer-spinne-kinder-kostuem-tierkostuem-fuer-halloween-sparkling-spider-costume-31354.jpg) on the cardboard on the costume’s hanger. It was of a little girl, wearing a dress with a black and silver velvet, long-sleeved top with a hood and a black skirt with a silver spiderweb pattern. From the sides of the dress hung three fake arms, attached by a string to each other and the one closest to the sleeves attached to them by a pair of strings, as well. 

“You want to wear this?” Ethan asked his son, just to be sure. Virgil nodded. “Even if it’s said to be a girl’s costume?” 

“It’s a spider costume, and I wanna be a spider. They don’t have one for boys,” Virgil responded. 

“Okay. I won’t stop you from wearing it. I just want to make sure you know that some people might not like it,” 

“People are mean.” 

“Yes, they are.” At that moment, Remus came running towards them with a costume of his own. 

“You’re gonna wear a skirt?” Remus asked, immediately noticing Virgil’s costume. 

“Yeah. So?” Virgil sounded a hint defensive. 

“That’s for girls.” 

“If Virgil would like to wear a skirt, he can. It’s Halloween, after all. You can wear whatever you like on Halloween. But even if it wasn’t Halloween, I wouldn’t care if Virgil wore a skirt, as long as he was happy wearing it,” Ethan lectured his younger son. 

“Even though it’s for girls?” 

“Even though it’s for girls,” he repeated. “You can wear a skirt, too, if you’d like,” he made sure the boy knew. Remus looked at his costume again, as if double-checking if it was what he really wanted, now that he knew he could wear a “girl’s” costume. Then, he ran off again. 

“Do you want to go into the next aisle and look for some face paint so we can do spiderwebs on your face, or would you rather wait here for Remus to come back?” Ethan asked his older son. 

“Wait,” Virgil responded, pressing closer to Ethan’s side. Ethan noticed, then, that they were no longer the only ones in the aisle. He kept an eye out for Remus among the gradually increasing group of families in the aisle. 

Eventually, Remus came running back, holding a whole new costume. It wasn’t a “girl’s” costume like Ethan was expecting it to be, with the way his lecture had seemed to inspire his son. However, there was nothing wrong with the boy’s costume, per se. It was a bit strange, but strange was pretty on brand for the boy. 

It was a large, green [ costume ](https://images.halloweencostumes.com/products/45383/1-1/kids-pickle-costume.jpg) that looked like Remus would have to pull it over his head, wearing a black long-sleeved shirt and black pants underneath. It also came with comically large, white gloves, that Ethan wasn’t sure would fit Remus’ hands, even though the boy had remembered to grab a costume with an “S” for small on the label. 

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” Ethan asked, but not to judge his son’s costume choice. Remus responded by tossing the costume into the cart. It landed with an audible clang against the metal wire of the cart, right next to Virgil’s spider costume. Ethan sighed fondly, holding out his hand for Remus to take. Remus did. 

The trio walked to the next aisle in the section, where they would find face paint, hair dye, other costume accessories, and even more costumes. They continued their shopping there, and then through the rest of the store. And when Halloween came, both boys would be happy in their costumes, and they would have a blast trick-or-treating as a family ~~(even with the absence of two ex-members)~~. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping the links will work, but if you can't look at them, I think I described Virgil's costume pretty well, and Remus's is a pickle. (I swear I'm not joking.)


	16. Crofters and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, food, anxiety mention, panic attack mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during Chapter 7 of “Wings.”

Roman was a midnight snacker. When he was a lot younger, not so much. But as a teen-aged boy with a growing appetite? He would wake up in the middle of the night with the urge to chow down a couple handfuls of cheese cubes or spoonfuls of Crofters jam. 

When it first happened, Roman tried to ignore the hungry rumbling of his stomach. He tried to go to sleep, ensuring his body that he would eat a large breakfast in the morning (and even if he did, it didn’t matter much. He always felt like he was starving by lunchtime, because too many of his teacher had rules against eating in class). 

Eventually, Roman accepted his fate. He would slowly crawl out from under his covers. He would sneak out of his room, and down the hallway, praying the floor wouldn’t creak and give him away.

The house would be dark, aside from the moon shining through the closed curtains of the living room and the kitchen window. He didn’t dare turn on a light. If he opened the fridge to grab the cheese cubes, that was his only light. 

As far as he was aware. he'd gone undetected all those times. Until one day, he was caught with his spoon in the Crofters jar. 

Roman didn’t know why Logan was awake then, and he didn’t bother to ask. Logan didn’t ask why _he_ was awake, either, but Roman figured it was obvious because of the jar of Crofters in his hands. 

“I knew it seemed like we were running out of jam quicker” was all Logan said, his voice a whisper, as he flicked on the kitchen light. Roman gave him a confused look. “You’re growing. You need to eat. Just don’t eat too much, or your stomach will keep you awake trying to digest it.” Roman nodded, pulling the spoon out of the jar and closing it. 

From then on, the kitchen light was left on all night, so Roman would have a light to guide his way to the kitchen and would be able to see all the food at his disposal at ease. 

When Virgil moved in, a couple years after this routine had established, Roman didn’t think about how the kitchen light being on might affect him. After all, Virgil had elected to sleep in the living room, where the light from the kitchen would be noticeable, where he might hear Roman sneaking through the house to get to there. But Virgil had never mentioned anything about it. 

Every time Roman walked by the living room couch upon which Virgil slept, there would be a mass of blankets that barely looked like it was moving but that, for certain, was Virgil’s sleeping form. Roman had become accustomed to this. 

So when he’d entered the kitchen one Wednesday evening, as he did every other evening, he certainly hadn’t been expecting someone else to be in the room. He hadn’t expected a figure wearing all black clothing to be perched on the kitchen countertop, next to the coffeemaker, a mug in their hands. Roman hadn’t even heard the coffeemaker running. 

Understandably, he startled. A whisper-yell of “Jesus Christ Superstar!” caused Virgil, sitting on the countertop with his legs crossed, to startle, as well. He almost dropped the mug. 

The two boys met each other’s eyes, the question of “What are you doing in here this late?” swirling in them. As if in answer, Roman approached Virgil, only to reach above his head to open a cabinet. From it, he pulled a jar of Crofters. And from a drawer near Virgil’s knees, Roman pulled out a spoon. 

Roman stood on the opposite side of the kitchen from Virgil, his back pressed against another countertop. He raised his brow at Virgil, as if to repeat his silent question – the one both boys expressed but only Roman had answered. 

In answer, Virgil raised his mug of coffee. Technically, it wasn’t _his_ mug. _No. That wasn’t what was important right now._

“Why are you drinking coffee so late at night?” Roman asked, his voice quiet. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Virgil responded, as if that had been obvious. He matched Roman’s volume. 

“Logan says that the caffeine in coffee acts as a stimulant, making you more alert, instead of putting you asleep.” 

“Yeah, well, I have anxiety. I wouldn’t be sleeping, anyway.” 

“He also says that caffeine can produce the same symptoms associated with anxiety on its own and can worsen the effects of those symptoms in a person with anxiety, potentially leading to panic attacks.” 

“I’m fine, Roman. If anything, your incessant worrying would lead me into a panic attack.” Roman’s eyes widened at the thought. “I’m _fine_.” 

“Is this your first cup?” Virgil scooted aside on the counter to give Roman a clearer view of the empty (and cleaned) coffeemaker. So it was Virgil’s _second_ cup, then. “Did you do this at Ethan's, too?” 

“I don't do it all the time. Otherwise, I’d have discovered your penchant for midnight snacks much sooner.” Roman took his first bite of jam finally, ending the conversation there. He had nothing left to say. Virgil wasn’t going to listen to him. Virgil didn’t appear to have anything to say to _him_ , either. 

So, they both occupied the kitchen, one sitting on the counter, and one leaning against the opposite counter, to enjoy their delicacies in peaceful silence until one - then both – of them decided to call it a night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if this is too soon to mention this, but after this chapter, I only have four more pre-written. I'll still gladly take requests for this universe, but I think I'll mark this story complete when it becomes 2021. After all, this universe has been around pretty much all of 2020.


	17. "Friendsgiving" -  the Remus and Roman addition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> background Patton Sanders/Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders, Remus Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, Deceit Sanders, some OC’s, underage drinking, partying, alcohol, drunkenness, blood mention, a little bit of Spanish, a single mention of kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that this takes place during Ethan and Patton’s “friendsgiving” dinner from Chapter 6 of “Strix Varia.”
> 
> I feel like I have to preface this chapter by saying that I don't condone underage drinking. Seriously, don't do it. ~~It's not that great.~~

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Roman began, addressing the party’s hostess. He was receiving a tour of her house from her, while Remus made socializing rounds – as if he was familiar with this girl and her parties (as if he wasn’t the new student at the school), while it was only Roman’s first party there (but also in general). “But if it’s almost Thanksgiving, why are we having a costume party?” The hostess was dressed as what Roman could only describe as a slutty murder victim. She wore a short, sparkly dress that was ripped at the bottom, and she had a fake bloody slash across half of her neck. 

The hostess didn’t seem taken aback by the question. She stopped only to make a grand gesture around the den, where several jock types played billiards at the pool table, which was littered with cups of what Roman figured was some kind of alcoholic beverage. “I couldn’t have a Halloween party this year, because I was stuck babysitting my niece and nephew,” she explained. “My parents and my… uh… um... _cómo se dice_... _mis tíos..._ um...” She was still blanking on the phrase, and it was beginning to get a little frustrating. She was sure Roman couldn’t understand what she had meant, and, frankly, she was a little embarrassed to suddenly just blank on a phrase and revert back to her native tongue. 

“I can understand Spanish,” he told her kindly. It helped to flip the metaphorical switch for the English language in her brain, but she still waited a moment before she spoke again. Even if Roman said he could understand Spanish, she didn’t know if he only had a couple years of a Spanish class under his belt or if he was genuinely fluent like she was. 

“Even though you’re...” She didn’t mean to be rude. Roman took no offense to it. 

“ _Mi padre me lo_ _enseñó_ ,” Roman explained in almost-perfect Spanish. _My father taught me it._ Of course Logan had. But Roman had been interested in learning, growing up. He’d had a few Hispanic friends, which made it easier to learn. He liked being able to communicate with them. 

Roman hadn’t guessed the party’s hostess was Hispanic. She looked about as pale as he did. “ _Y_ _tu_ _hermano_... _Probablemente_ _no_ , huh?” 

“ _No_.” Roman took a deep breath, knowing he should redirect the conversation back to English. “We were raised in different houses. I didn’t mean to interrupt your tour.” It was a moment before the hostess spoke again.

“Oh. Right. That’s why we’re in a jock-filled room.” She must not have enjoyed being a cheerleader, if she made that kind of remark. But Roman didn’t plan on questioning her about anything else. He planned to enjoy the rest of the tour. 

The hostess led Roman through and past a few more rooms. The last stop on the tour was the kitchen, where the island in the center was littered with dozens of different kinds of bottles: water and soda, but also alcoholic beverages. A boy who looked like he might have hung out around Remus stood on the opposite side of the island, mixing up drinks as if he was a professional bartender. But that couldn’t have been possible, given that this was a high school party. 

“Welcome back, Remus!” the man crowed. He looked unsteady on his feet, like he might’ve been sampling each of the drinks he made. 

“Not Remus,” the hostess explained. “His twin. Roman.” 

“Nice to meet you.” The boy held out a hand over the bottles on the island. Roman hesitantly took it and shook it. “What can I fix up for you?” Roman opened his mouth to speak, but he was never given the chance. “No, let me guess. Your brother asked for a Bellini, which was a bit of a shocker to me. I took him to be a harder liquor type. But you’re probably a fan of the sweeter liquors.” 

“I actually don’t-” Roman began, while the boy had stopped speaking to think. “Wait. You gave my brother an alcoholic beverage? We’re both only fifteen.” 

“This is a high school party. You've got to have at least one alcoholic beverage. And I think your brother can handle himself.” Roman sighed. “Let me just make you something and you can tell me if you like it.” 

“Oh, I...” Roman knew Logan would have wanted him to resist the peer pressures of alcohol. He would have wanted him to call him, to ask him to come pick him and Remus up, because alcohol had been introduced and either of them drinking it would have been illegal. Except it was too late for Remus. 

But if Remus could do it – if this boy, the hostess, and all these other kids could do it – who would it hurt? As long as he just had the one drink then a ton of food and water afterwards, who would know? He and Remus didn’t have to tell Logan and Ethan what they’d done. He wouldn’t have to tell Patton that he’d broken the pinky promise he’d made (and the thought of _that_ made his stomach swirl with guilt, and it was almost enough to convince him to back out. But he was too late). 

“Try this,” the boy said, sliding a drink that resembled eggnog, or perhaps a milkshake, in front of Roman. Roman looked at it hesitantly. 

“What is it?” Roman asked, lifting it up towards his nose. 

“You don’t want to smell it.” The boy reached out to lower the drink. “It’s called a Brandy Alexander. It’ll taste like a chocolate milkshake with alcohol.” Roman was still hesitant to try the drink. 

“Trust me,” the boy told Roman gently. “I think you’ll like it.” Roman nodded, taking a deep breath (mostly to avoid smelling the drink as he took a sip) before bringing the cup to his lips and taking the first sip. He instantly set the cup back down, coughing as the alcohol stung the back of his throat and made his eyes water. 

“It gets better,” the boy said. “Each sip will become less painful as you become used to the taste of alcohol.” 

“And I won’t get drunk?” 

“I’ve made you enough to get tipsy. But you won’t get drunk enough to do any stupid shit like the jocks downstairs.” 

“They’re just playing pool,” Roman responded, though it sounded more like a question. 

“For now. I give them until nine-thirty. Come back here then, if you’d like a good time. For now, your brother went out to the pool.” 

“Alcohol and water? Isn’t that kind of dangerous?” 

“His crew will be off to the sidelines, each with their own drink. They’ll be people watching and/or shit-talking, more than anything else.” 

“Are any of the theatre kids here?” 

“Parties aren’t really their scene.” The hostess had left the two a while ago. Despite the popularity of alcohol in this joint, no one had come up to interrupt Roman and the boy’s conversation, asking for a refill of whatever. “Especially not ones like this.” 

“Oh.” Roman seemed crestfallen. He must have hoped he’d have a few more friendly faces than just his brother’s. 

“You could hang out here, if you’d like. You're an artistic type. You might like mixing drinks.” 

“I don’t know...” 

“You could always hang at the back of your brother’s crowd.” Roman sighed. He knew the boy was right. Even if he didn’t necessarily fit in with this boy and the bottles, he would stick out like a sore thumb among his brother’s crowd. He took another sip of his drink. The boy had been right. It already hurt his throat less. He felt a warmth spread through his body. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. 

“I might have overestimated,” the boy said, noting Roman’s change in demeanor. He was familiar with the signs that someone was tipsy. Or drunk enough to do something they might regret. “You should probably stop drinking that for now. I can put it in the fridge and give it back in a couple hours.” 

“Won’t it taste bad?” Roman asked. 

“But you won’t want to get drunk, either, sweetheart.” The boy wasn’t flirting. He was being kind. He eased the drink out of Roman’s hand and put it in the fridge. He passed Roman a bottle of water, instead. “I promise you’ll get it back in a couple hours. Maybe you should go hang out with your brother, after all. That way he can keep an eye on you.” 

“He’s okay to do that?” 

“It would be better than leaving you on your own.” 

“Thought you wanted me to hang out here with you.” 

“You won’t be much use to me if you’re too tipsy to learn to mix.” 

“I could pass out the water bottles and soda cans.” Roman made his way around the island, to the boy’s side of it. He stood by the fridge as if he were a knight, guarding it with his life. The boy smiled fondly. 

“Alright. Just don’t pass out your own water bottle.” Roman laughed, maybe a bit louder than he needed to. 

It took Roman about an hour and some to sober up, but he’d forgotten all about his drink in the fridge. The boy whose name he still hadn’t asked for was teaching him to make some of the more basic alcoholic beverages (rum and coke, gin and tonic, and other beverages that only had two or three ingredients). He and the boy manned the island, mixing drinks as more people started flooding in and requesting them. They both thought they made a good team. 

Finally, Remus came in, asking for another Bellini. He noticed his brother behind the island, whipping up the Bellini for him, instead of the other boy, who was working on a more complex order. 

“Roman?” Remus asked. “Since when were you a barkeep?” 

“Since like half an hour ago?” Roman responded, more focused on getting the drink right than on his brother. 

“But you’ve never had alcohol before.” 

“Had a drink earlier. Probably still in the fridge. Probably okay to finish now.” 

“What would Logan say?” 

“You’re not gonna tell him we drank.” Roman slid the drink across the counter, to his brother. “Nor Dad.” 

“Well, of course not. Just didn’t peg you for the type to disobey your fathers.” Roman shrugged. He took another order and started making that. His brother hung around to watch him work. “You and Nate are naturals back there.” Nate must have been the boy’s name. 

“I’ve learned from the best.” Nate looked up with a smile from the drink he was mixing. 

“Should I get you more invitations to parties in the future, then?” 

“You don’t have to trouble yourself with it.” 

“Besides,” the hostess said, seemingly having come from out of nowhere. She gave her order to Roman before continuing her original thought, “he’s welcome to all of mine. Especially given his skills behind the counter. Didn’t know you had it in you, Thespie.” 

“Thespie?” Roman asked. 

“Like Thespian. As in a theatre kid.” Roman nodded his understanding. He slid the hostess her drink before taking on the next order. His brother was still there, watching him and sipping his Bellini. 

“You’re not gonna get drunk, are you?” Roman asked his brother. “Because Father would for sure kill us if he found out.” 

“He won’t find out, because I won’t get drunk enough to do something stupid. Speaking of, it’s almost nine-thirty.” 

“Which means?” 

“You and Nate will be relieved from duty while everyone crowds around to watch and record the jocks pull some stupid stunt.” 

“Is that an every time thing?” 

“Pretty much.” Roman whipped up his last drink and grabbed his own from the fridge, before he was pulled out to the backyard by his brother. 

“You know what they’re going to do?” 

“Hell no. Not even they do. But it’ll happen here. More space.” Roman nodded. He and Remus joined the crowd of kids. Roman took a drink. He made a face, though again, the alcohol didn’t sting as bad as it had the very first time. 

“What’d Nate make you?” Remus asked, gesturing to his brother’s drink. 

“Brandy Alexander. He taught me how to make it, too.” 

“What’s it taste like?” 

“Milkshake. Want a sip?” 

“Want a sip of this?” Remus asked in response, holding his own drink toward Roman. The brothers swapped drinks and took a sip, before handing back the other’s drink. “Not bad. Definitely more your taste than mine.” 

“Fruity,” Roman said about Remus’s drink. Then a noise drew the brother’s eyes. Now was the time the jocks would pull whatever stupid, drunken stunt they were determined to pull that evening. 

*** 

They spent the night at the hostess’s house, as did many of the other party guests. Remus, Roman, Nate, and the hostess had spent the last few hours of the evening in the girl’s bedroom, talking, laughing, exchanging stories, and learning more about each other. Roman and Remus had one more of their respective drinks, whipped up by Roman, himself. 

Nate was the first one of their group to fall asleep that night. Roman watched his brother prank him by doodling on the bare skin of his arms with felt-tip pens. Most of the doodles were penises. Roman made a few doodles of his own: all of their names in cursive, snaking around to form a circle on the boy’s hand. The hostess, who Roman learned was named Sophia, left pink heart freckles across Nate’s pale cheeks. 

Next to fall asleep was Remus, likely due to the at least three drinks he’d consumed that evening. Which left only Roman and Sophia awake. They had a conversation in whispered Spanish, where they learned more about each other’s families and their respective histories in theatre (including the incident which caused Sophia to quit and join cheerleading instead). 

Roman didn’t know if he or Sophia fell asleep first, but it didn’t matter when he woke up the next morning. He was the first to wake up. He ran through all of the details of the night before, remembering all the fun he’d had. 

He’d had fun learning from Nate how to mix drinks. He’d had fun watching the jocks’ stunt. He’d had fun hanging out with Remus, Nate, and Sophia as the party wound down, the other guests passing out because of the alcohol or because of fatigue. 

He remembered Sophia kissing him and him having to gently tell her that they were becoming good friends, but he was gay. He figured, now awake and not tipsy, that she must have been drunk when she did it. That she probably wouldn’t remember it when she woke up. Roman decided that he wouldn’t ask. 

Nate was the next to wake up that morning, and he noticed Roman’s doodles on his hand, first. Then the penises Remus had drawn along his arm. “Did I fall asleep first?” Nate asked Roman, his voice slurred a bit with sleep. Roman nodded. He didn’t mention the heart freckles Nate would find when he looked in a mirror later. “Your handwriting is pretty,” Nate said, referring to the doodle on his hand. He knew Remus had drawn the penises, and of course he'd be able to recognize Sophia's handwriting. 

“Thanks,” Roman responded. “My adoptive dad taught me.” 

“Yours and Remus’s?” 

“No, just mine. Logan.” Remus and Roman had told them the story of their fathers the previous night. Nate nodded in understanding. 

“What time do you both have to be home? I can take you.” Roman shrugged. He couldn’t remember if Logan had said anything about that. He hadn’t checked his phone since before he’d stepped into the party the night before. He supposed he should. 

“I’ll ask,” Roman responded, patting his pockets for his phone. He found it pretty quickly, but he’d been worried that he might’ve had a little too much to drink last night and he’d lost it at some point. He knew that he wouldn’t remember if he had. He was sure Nate and/or Remus wouldn’t have let him drink enough to get to that point, though. 

Roman texted Logan. He was surprised when his father didn’t text him back right away. Or five minutes later. Or even an hour later, after both Remus and Sophia had woken up. Even after a second hour, after Sophia had kicked everyone else out of her house, Logan hadn’t answered. 

Roman finally decided he would have to call his father. So he did. “Now’s not a good time, Roman,” Logan said, picking up after the first ring. He sounded exhausted. A hint irritated. Roman could imagine him rubbing his eyes. 

“I texted you a couple hours ago and you still haven’t answered,” Roman explained. 

“Your father and I have been...” Logan sighed. “We’ve been talking about last night’s dinner.” Logan didn’t think he had the right to tell Roman the betrayal that had happened that night. 

“Did something happen?” 

“Patton can explain it when you get home, if he’d like.” Only Logan could see how Patton shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes. “Never mind, then. Just be home before your normal curfew.” 

“Father, please just tell me what’s wrong. I know it’s something.” 

“ _No_ , Roman.” His father’s voice was stern. This time, it was Roman who sighed. He knew better than to press Logan for information. He would just have to ask Patton when he got home. Or maybe Remus would find out after _he_ returned home. 

“I’ll see you whenever, then,” Roman said, disappointed. Logan hung up the phone. He sighed again, before turning to Nate. “I’ve gotta be home by six.” Roman turned to his brother. “Rem, do you have a curfew?” 

“I’m fine getting home after you do,” Remus responded. 

“So, what are we gonna do today?” Nate asked the other three of their group of four. 

“You all can help me clean this place up,” Sophia said. 

“Of course.” And so that’s how they spent the rest of their day, along with breaks for breakfast and lunch. Nate dropped Roman off at his house at ten to six and Remus at five to six, effectively ending their party until the next time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been around for a long freaking time, and I still don't know if I'm quite satisfied with the foreign language stumble section, but :/


	18. Self-care isn't for beauty, so then why is it bringing pain?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton Sanders, Logan Sanders, Janus Sanders (named Ethan), Patton Sanders/ Logan Sanders, past Patton Sanders/Janus Sanders, fluff and angst, self-care, baths, massage, (if it’s not obvious they’re gonna be nakey for part of this), if you think something is an innuendo, it probably is ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad chapter name, I know. But bear with me. Anyway...
> 
> This isn’t purely angst, but it was the angsty moment in this that prompted this whole idea. Well, that and AceOfFates’s comment on Chapter 13 (yes, that’s around the time this was written): “Lmao Lo join Pat in the bath don’t be mean” which was just really fucking funny to me for some reason.

“Close your eyes,” Logan commanded gently, standing on the opposite side of the threshold to Patton and Logan’s shared bedroom. It was just the two of them home that night, Roman at the cast party for his latest high school theatre production. 

Patton was quick to do what Logan asked. He tried to ignore the nervous butterflies swarming in his stomach. After all, if Logan was asking him to close his eyes, he must have had a surprise for him. And Patton loved surprises. Because surprises were usually good. 

Logan wouldn’t dare give him a _bad_ surprise, right? 

Patton squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He heard as Logan’s feet padded on their bedroom carpet, his footsteps approaching Patton. Soon enough, Patton could feel Logan’s breath brushing the strands of his hair that seemed to perpetually hang in front of his face. 

“Open your eyes,” Logan repeated in that same gently-commanding tone. His voice, now, also had a breathless quality to it. Perhaps he was nervous of Patton’s reaction to his surprise. Logan, himself, wasn’t a fan of surprises, preferring things to be presented in a straightforward manner. 

Patton opened his eyes to Logan holding a light blue, plastic, rectangular basket out towards him. The basket was, of course, filled with numerous items, though Patton couldn’t immediately identify them. 

He allowed Logan to lead him over to the bed, where he set down the basket before taking a seat, himself. Patton took a seat on the opposite side of the basket. Now, he had the chance to dump out all the items and look through them. Logan watched him and waited for his reaction. 

Patton’s first instinct was to organize the mess of items by type, which he did by looking at the shape of the items’ packages. A plastic bag of cookies was set aside. Cold, thin, paper packages were stacked into a messy pile. Spherical objects were set aside into a “divot” Patton created in the duvet. A puppy plush was cuddled to his chest tightly for a moment, before he set it between his and Logan’s pillows. A book was set on his bedside dresser. And finally, a small slip of thick paper was slipped into the book as a temporary bookmark. (Patton would have to remember to actually look at what it said later.) 

“What’s all this for?” Patton asked, as he set the basket down on the floor, looking at the spread of items in front of him. 

“I thought we could use tonight for self-care. You’ve been a little stressed lately,” Logan responded. Patton was sure he’d been hiding it better. But he imagined that his husband of about half a decade would have been able to tell that the whole thing with Ethan and the boys was still tearing him apart, even though that had been a few months ago. 

He’d tried to put that negative energy into baking goodies for his family, into taking care of his family’s needs – even though both his husband and his son were pretty independent from him. He tried to focus on his work. He’d been talking more with Remy and Emile and their young daughter, though the girl wasn’t doing more than babbling. 

“I’m fine,” Patton tried to deny, anyway. 

“It’s perfectly acceptable to not be feeling mentally well,” Logan replied, his voice gentle. “I can only imagine what has been bringing you down. Regardless, it is not good to repress those emotions. Even if you don’t wish to talk about it, I hope a self-care evening might lift the metaphorical fog over your mind for a bit.” 

“How long have you been planning this?” 

“A while. But with Roman being gone tonight, it’s the perfect opportunity.” 

“You’ll do it with me?” 

“Of course, Patton. A self-care evening might relieve me of some of my own stress temporarily.” 

“You're stressed?" Patton’s brows furrowed in worry, his lips tilting down into a frown. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?” 

“It is only stress related to my work. It is nothing I am not used to. And besides, I knew this night was coming.” 

“But I’m your husband. I’m supposed to help you. Or at least provide a listening ear.” 

“Neither of us appear to have used that resource, however.” Patton’s lips pressed into a thin line. Because of course, Logan was right. Logan was often right. “Now, what would you like to start with: a bath and massage or dinner?” 

“You made dinner?” 

“If you pull out that slip of paper, you’ll see that I’ve gotten us a coupon for a nicer restaurant here in town.” 

“You didn’t need to do that.” 

“I wanted to. Nice food and a bottle of wine would surely put us both in a better mood.” 

“Maybe we should do the bath and massage, first. That way we can look nice when we go to the nice restaurant.” 

“Alright. Pick out a bath bomb. I’ll meet you in the bathroom.” 

“You’ll be taking a bath with me, right?” 

“Someone has to give you a massage, dear.” 

“Can I give you one, as well?” 

“I figured you might want to.” Logan pressed a quick kiss to Patton’s forehead before standing up. 

“Won’t you have to get undressed, then?” 

“I was going to in the bathroom, so I could start up the bath. Bath bomb?” Logan held out his hand for the object in question. Patton pulled each bomb from the pile of balls and smelled them through the plastic wrapping. The first one was a lilac purple and smelled like lavender. The second was light blue and smelled... well, Patton wasn’t sure how to describe it. The third was white and smelled exactly like sugar cookies pulled fresh from the oven. He was quick to press that one into Logan’s waiting palm. 

“I thought you might like that one.” Logan smiled fondly, wrapping his fingers around the ball. “I’ll see you in the bathroom in a bit, dear.” Patton returned Logan’s smile. He watched as Logan walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

Patton put everything back in the basket, aside from the little slip of paper he’d been using as a temporary bookmark that he now knew was a coupon and the bag of cookies. He looked at the items more closely as he put them back in the basket, noting the title of the book (“Milk and Honey,” by Rupi Kaur – which Patton _might_ have heard of, but he wasn’t sure if he would read, just because he didn’t read much. However, he still appreciated the sentiment. Logan loved books. Logan must have seen or heard of this book and thought of him). 

The stack of cold, thin, paper packages were face masks of different types. And as Patton read the label on the fifth from the stack, his body froze. His breath caught in his throat and tears pricked at the backs of his eyes. 

Yellow packaging. Lemon and honey infused, it said. 

Patton remembered someone who had used this exact face mask. Someone who strongly believed in self-care. Who had gently pressed an identical mask to Patton’s face, one evening, in the bathroom of his old apartment, decades ago. Whose voice was soft, as they explained what it was supposed to do. Who had to fight against smiling as Patton fought to crinkle his nose and accidentally shift the mask on his face because of the strong scent of lemon. 

Of course, Logan had no way of knowing. Self-care had been a weekly practice in Ethan and Patton’s relationship in the very beginning, when Ethan had moved in but before they’d adopted their first of three sons. Ethan had loved the yellow of the mask and the lemony scent. Patton had always been more partial to a strawberry one they discovered later. 

But that was the past. Patton needed to pull himself from his head and focus on the self-care evening that was here and now. He had to focus on his husband, Logan, and the care he had put into this gift for him, into the care he allowed himself to be so vulnerable as to show. 

Patton knew Logan didn’t want him repressing his feelings, but he had to push down these thoughts of Ethan. These thoughts of happiness in their past. These thoughts of another man, another home, another self-care evening. 

He’d have to pretend that the knowledge of these masks waiting for him to use – these masks Logan might suggest they use after their bath as a part of their self-care routine – didn't bring back a flood of painful nostalgia. He’d have to pretend that this self-care wasn’t going to hurt him, now that the memories of previous self-care evenings with another man were drifting through his mind like the lemony scent of the face mask towards his nose. 

He took a deep breath and it came out shaky. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. He lifted a shaky fist to wipe it away. He knew he needed to get himself together. Logan would be coming to check on him soon. It wouldn’t be a nice sight for Logan to see Patton crying on their self-care evening, which was supposed to be happy. 

“Patton?” Logan’s voice called from the opposite side of the door. “Are you ready?” 

“I-” Patton started, hating how his voice cracked on the single syllable. Logan, for sure, would want to check in on him now. He cleared his throat. He shoved the offending face mask into the basket, as if that would help him to forget that he saw it, help him to forget the thoughts drifting through his mind. “I’ll be right out. I was just putting everything away.” He hoped Logan couldn’t hear just how fake happy his voice sounded. 

“Are you doing alright?” _Fuck_. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” His voice cracked again. He hated lying. Lying had been _Ethan’s_ thing, he knew. He didn’t want to be like him. A knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” Patton said immediately, against his better judgement. Logan did, a towel wrapped around his waist and his chest bare. He held his clothes in his hands. 

Logan deposited his dirty clothes in their laundry hamper before turning to look back at Patton, who was still putting the face masks away so he could avoid Logan’s curious eyes. Eyes that could read right through him, Patton was sure, after about half a decade of marriage. Patton felt the bed dip as Logan took a seat on the other side of the basket. He reached out to help Patton put the items away. Patton did his best to avoid Logan's hand, knowing that as soon as their fingers brushed, his eyes would shoot up to meet Logan’s. But perhaps that had been Logan’s intention all along, for their fingers brushed as they reached for a pomegranate face mask. 

Patton’s eyes shot up to meet Logan’s, which were filled with concern. Patton’s breath caught in his throat again. “What’s wrong?” Logan asked. And his voice was so gentle that Patton’s tears felt compelled to prick at the backs of his eyes. “Should we try to do this another night?” 

“No!” Patton responded immediately, voice louder than he’d intended it to be. “You put all this work into it, and you’ve already got the bath started. We can do this. It’s fine.” 

“Okay.” Logan’s voice was still gentle. “Then how about you get undressed while I put the rest of this away. We don’t want the bath getting cold.” Patton nodded his agreement and stood. He made sure to brush his fingers against Logan’s as he did, giving him that small boost of serotonin that touches from Logan always brought him. 

Patton got undressed as Logan put the rest of the items in the basket. Then, the two walked to the bathroom together. Patton immediately climbed into the warm, bubbly bath waiting for him. The goosebumps on his skin were quick to leave him, once he did. 

Logan climbed into the bathtub behind Patton, spreading his legs on both sides of Patton’s own. He grabbed a bottle of massage oil he had set of the edge of the bathtub and opened it. He put some of it on his hands, then he began working it into Patton’s shoulders and back. 

The muscles there were tense. (Patton couldn’t have told you the last time he’d gotten any kind of massage.) The noise he made when Logan pressed into a certain spot on his back was sinful, his eyes squeezed shut as he enjoyed the painful-but-relieving sensation. He let out more of those sinful sounds as well as a few sighs. And before he knew it, the massage was over. 

Logan was given much the same treatment, and he had much of the same vocal reactions. (One might have thought he was too serious to be vocal, that he might be ashamed to be, but when it was just him and Patton alone, he knew he could be vulnerable. He knew Patton loved to see him vulnerable. He knew Patton loved to know that he was enjoying himself.) 

But that, too, was over almost as soon as it began. Which left them to actually get clean. Facing each other as they rubbed shampoo and conditioner into each other's hair, then as they used a cup to rinse it out. Standing in the bathtub so they could scrub scented body wash onto each other’s bodies with the loofah from the basket. Sinking back into the lukewarm water of the bath and letting the water rinse away the suds on their bodies. Staying in the warmth of the bath a little longer and pressing long, gentle kisses against wet, inviting lips. 

It was only when their fingers and toes began to get pruny that Logan finally unplugged the stopper from the drain, forcing them to leave the tub, drying off their bodies with towels and wrapping them around their waists. Logan combed out his wet hair, while Patton simply ran his fingers through his own. Then, they returned to their bedroom. 

They got dressed in identical button-up shirts (Logan’s black and Patton’s aqua blue) and black dress slacks and shoes. They wore their towels over their wet heads of hair, rather than drying it with a blow dryer or letting it spill droplets onto their nice outfits. 

“How do you feel?” Logan made sure to ask Patton. 

“Wonderful,” Patton responded genuinely, taking Logan’s hands in his. After all, a warm bath did wonders for one’s mental health. Both the massage and the bath bomb, as well as the kisses with his husband, made it a perfect experience. “How do you feel?” 

“I feel... adequate,” Logan responded after a moment. Patton knew that this was a good thing. He smiled at Logan softly, and it was returned equally as soft. “We can leave for the restaurant as soon as our hair is mostly dry. What would you like to do until then?” 

Patton’s only response was a cheeky smile as his eyes flicked down to Logan’s lips. “We just got dressed,” Logan responded with half-feigned exasperation, as if kissing would result in their clothes coming off and their appearances becoming messy. As if he wouldn’t give Patton the boost of happy chemicals that it was scientifically-proven that kissing provided. As if Logan didn’t enjoy kissing Patton when it was just the two of them. 

Patton stepped closer to Logan, but he didn’t do anything more until Logan inclined his head in a nod. When Logan’s head rose again, Patton stepped even closer to Logan and wrapped his arms around his waist. He tilted his head up and met Logan’s lips with his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you also read my fic ["A different kind of chemistry,"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26915458) I'm going to try to get the update out today - maybe this morning before I suddenly get super busy, but I may not be able to manage it before I have to leave home. So at the latest, an update would be sometime tomorrow.
> 
> Also, I officially made a [Tumblr blog](https://read-write-sleep-repeat.tumblr.com/) just for my writing. I'm not 100% sure what I'll do with it, but it's got all my published works on a masterpost, and I'll post any updates like the one above. I'll post links to new works I post here, on that account. I might post other drabble-like things that I write that won't ever be posted on AO3. I might reblog writing prompts and take requests, but I'm not sure about that yet.


	19. The Sanders discuss Roman's future as a college student

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, Patton Sanders/Logan Sanders, college, serious discussion time, angst with a happy ending

“Hey, Dad?” Roman asked, knocking on the doorframe to his fathers’ bedroom (since the door was already open wide). Logan was still at work, and Roman would have preferred to have this conversation with both of his fathers, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could put off this conversation. Patton looked up from the cooking magazine he wasn’t actually reading. 

“What’s up, kiddo?” Patton asked in response, patting the spot next to him on the bed. Roman entered the room and took a seat where Patton had indicated. 

“I hadn’t wanted to have this discussion without Father, but...” Roman began, as if, perhaps, he was trying to stall for time, hoping his father would walk through the front door before he had to really get into what was bothering him. “It’s just...” Or maybe Roman was finding the right way to phrase it: a way that wouldn’t upset his emotional father. 

It must have been luck that the front door creaked open, followed by the sound of jangling keys and footsteps that were unmistakably Logan’s. Roman breathed a sigh of relief. “Father?” Roman called out, as if he wasn’t entirely sure that it was his father who had stepped through the door. 

“I’ll be in, in a minute, Roman,” Logan responded. Roman and Patton listened as Logan settled in a bit, before his footsteps made their way to his and Patton’s shared bedroom. Logan took a seat on his son’s other side. 

“What is it, Roman?” Logan asked gently. 

“I just...” Roman began again. Patton took his hand and held it. “It’s college applications season, and I’m a senior in high school now...” 

“Yes, I’m aware. You haven't expressed a desire to either of us about a certain school you have in mind, I believe.” 

“I haven’t. And that’s because... well, I have a certain school in mind, but I don’t think it’s possible.” 

“Anything is possible, Roman,” Patton encouraged his son. “What school is it?” 

“Julliard,” Roman said dejectedly, as if so sure now that he wouldn’t get in. “And even if, by some miracle-” 

“-You don’t need a miracle. Anyone with eyes can see that you’re a stellar actor.” 

“-I get accepted, it’s expensive. _And_ it’s in New York.” 

“You should chase your dreams, kiddo.” 

“Roman, have you thought of any safety schools?” Logan asked. 

“Of course. NYU, again in New York. AMDA, which is in either New York or Los Angeles. They’re both fancy performing arts schools. But I also have Florida State and U of F. They’re supposed to be the best schools for an acting degree here in Florida.” 

“It’s good to see you have realistic goals. And if-” 

“-When-” Patton interrupted, making sure to emphasize the word. 

“ _When_ ,” Logan repeated, somewhat hesitantly (if only because he knew of the competitiveness of schools like Julliard. He was intimately familiar with it, since he'd failed to get into Harvard Law, years and years ago), “you get into Julliard or NYU or AMDA, we’ll figure out cost and living situations.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to move all the way out there for me,” Roman told his fathers. “You already had to move _here_ after the divorce.” 

“I’m not necessarily saying we will. If we have to pay extra for you to live on campus and pay extra to fly you home for the holidays, we’ll absolutely be willing to do it. Anything for the sake of your education. 

“Besides, Patton, Ethan, and I have all been contributing to a college fund account for you. That, on top of financial aid, should make the cost a little more manageable. 

“Let the money be my worry. You worry about polishing your resume and your portfolio and your applications and your essays.” 

“Are you really sure this is okay?” Roman asked, his worry shining through in his voice. 

“Absolutely!” Patton responded enthusiastically for the both of them. “We’ll always support you and your dreams.” Patton lifted a hand to mess up Roman’s hair, which earned him a groan and a halfhearted whine of “Dad.” 

“Thank you.” Roman pulled both of his fathers into a hug, a little teary-eyed. He’d expected Patton’s unwavering support, of course, but he’d expected him to be a little upset at the thought of him going to college far away. ( _Though maybe he was and just wasn’t showing it? Oh, no, he was_ : Roman felt a few tears on his shirtsleeve.) He’d expected Logan to start grilling him about how he planned to help pay for all of it, because he was sure financial aid and college funds and a little bit from Logan’s paycheck or whatever - however that worked - wouldn’t be able to cover all of the cost. 

“Thank you,” Roman repeated. Logan wouldn’t admit to a few tears of his own. He wouldn’t admit to holding his stepson a little tighter than he would have in any normal hug. None of them would admit that they were sad that Roman was growing up so fast, that they didn’t want to let each other go because they might blink and suddenly Roman was tossing his cap into the air at his commencement ceremony. 

But those were all problems for another day. For now, Roman had the support of his family as he applied for colleges. He had the love of his fathers as he made it through each day. He had a family that loved him and meant the world to him. He was happy, regardless of any- and every-thing that happened in his past. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is really short, and normally I’d do a double update when this happens, but there’s only one more chapter written after this one (unless I decide to write like a Christmas one around that time). And I suppose I’m trying to prolong this fic just a little bit longer. Or it could just be that this knowledge feels kinda bittersweet to me, since this series has been around basically all year, and idk if I’m quite ready to close this up, come next week or 2021.


	20. The Divorce: Ethan's Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton Sanders, Janus Sanders (named Ethan), Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Remus Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders/Janus Sanders, implied domestic abuse, emotional/psychological abuse, angst, lies, divorce, breakup, getting over someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** This is _not_ me condoning abuse in any form. I simply thought to myself “What was Ethan’s perspective through the divorce?” “Wings” focuses on Patton’s perspective, and we only get little hints in “Strix Varia” as to what Ethan thought about it. So I wanted to show Ethan’s perspective in full, and yeah, it’s a little ugly.

Patton was the first person in a long time to show Ethan positive attention. Sure, his mom would drive him places when he asked her to; sure, his parents had put a roof over his head and food on the table; but by the time he’d met Patton, he knew they were doing it out of obligation. He knew what went on behind the doors his mother had always tried to keep closed. He knew of the organization that could try and take him away, if his parents gave them a reason to. 

So yes, maybe Patton had been a positive source of, well, _everything_ , in Ethan’s life. 

Patton, with his helpfulness and kind greetings. Patton, who didn’t laugh at the burn on Ethan’s face or the fedora he wore to hide most of it, when he could. Patton, who gave him the love and attention he had never realized he was craving. 

Patton, who he dated, moved in with, married, started a family with. Patton, who gave his boss a gleaming recommendation of Ethan and secured him a position at the law firm he had interned at, at the law firm he’d met Patton at. 

Patton, who loved Ethan with his whole heart and yet had three more hearts full of love to spare for their three sons. Patton, who worked hard to raise the boys while Ethan worked hard to bring in the income they were losing while Patton remained a stay-at-home parent. 

Patton, who gave several higher-ups gleaming recommendations of Ethan for several higher-up positions in the field of law. Patton, who gave him a family that gave him a reputation that contradicted what the burns on his face might have had others thinking about him (that he looked like a monster and therefore, _must_ have been a monster, surely. Cruel and unsuited for positions in the government that would directly affect more people than just whoever’s case he was placed on as a lawyer). 

Patton, who began playing nice with smart Logan Lehrer, who Ethan hadn’t liked since their days interning at the law firm and competing for top marks in the local college. 

Ethan was sure Logan would do anything to tarnish his reputation, since Ethan was winning when it came to power in the judicial system. And so, Ethan didn’t put it past Logan to get buddy-buddy with his husband and convince him that Ethan was some no-good scoundrel. To try to turn Ethan’s husband against him. Or to just get Patton to see the truth of the matter: that Ethan had a sharp tongue and quick wit, and he definitely _did_ use it to get what he wanted sometimes, but never to secure his position in the courts or his status as kindhearted Patton Sanders’s husband. 

That Ethan Lee was a snake. 

And so, if he was being truthful, it came as no surprise to Ethan when Patton began expressing his doubts about their relationship. He had to use his snakelike “charm” and convince Patton to push Logan away, just like he’d done with Remy and Emile – just in case. He didn’t want to lose the best thing in his life. Not because of anyone. 

But it must have been the wrong thing for to Ethan to do. 

It must have been wrong for Ethan to spend so many years telling Patton that he (Patton) was wrong, that he was too kindhearted and naïve to know how ruthless the world truly was, and so he should let Ethan guide him through it. He should put his trust in Ethan and let him keep him safe and happy, loved and cared for. He should keep quiet because he might say the wrong thing to someone and get them into a big, big mess they couldn’t get out of. He should do what Ethan said, because Ethan knew best. 

Because Ethan knew what was best to keep their family together. To keep them safe from harm. To keep them happy. 

Patton had listened for so long, been so silent and compliant. Ethan hated to see it - he really, truly did - but it had to be done. It was what was best, he knew. He had to ignore how much it hurt to not hear Patton passionately ramble about something the boys had done that day or a story a coworker had told him in passing. 

So Ethan should have been happy when Patton started speaking again, right? _Wrong_. 

When Patton opened his mouth again, it was Logan Lehrer’s words spilling past his sweet, sweet lips. It was Logan Lehrer’s lies, tasting like bitter poison on Ethan’s tongue when he kissed Patton to try to assuage his worries. It was Logan Lehrer’s seeds of doubt sprinkled in Patton’s mind, blooming brambles that tore through all the hard work Ethan had done with Patton. 

It was Logan Lehrer, himself, who drove a wedge between the married couple that Ethan had no hope of preparing. Not when Patton fought back against his claims. Not when Patton demanded they take it to a divorce attorney. 

Not when Patton signed his name in blue ink. Not when Patton divided their family into two uneven, broken halves. 

Not when Patton destroyed Ethan’s happiness. 

Ethan had to raise two sons who mourned the loss of their father and their brother. Who needed his love and comfort more than ever, as if he’d ever been good at that and as if they trusted him enough to come to him with that. 

And he didn’t blame them for not. He knew he hadn’t been around. He was sure Logan had been planting lies in their heads, too. 

He had to cut back on work to raise his grieving sons. He had to get them therapy. He had to actively work to be a good father for those kids, when his own parents hadn’t been exemplary examples of what good parenting should look like. He had to ignore his own broken heart and grief over Patton and Roman for them. 

He had to push down his own feelings for their benefit, not even getting therapy for himself, otherwise they might see him as weak. Or someone else might think it made him unfit to parent the boys and called the organization that would take Ethan’s two remaining treasures away. 

He had to do some learning as he went. He had to learn about parenting, not how to cope with a loss. He had to learn about his sons, not what to do when you lost the only person who had ever been good to you. 

And since he never had the opportunity to process his feelings about the situation as he raised his sons, it was fair to say he didn’t get over Patton. He _couldn’t_ get over Patton. 

Sweet, _sweet_ Patton who had thought he was doing what was best. Who had always seen the good in everyone. Who had seen the good in _him_. 

Even if he’d had the opportunity to _try,_ Ethan wouldn’t have been able to vilify Patton. To make him seem so undesirable that Ethan wanted nothing to do with him, should their paths ever cross. (Of course, that had no longer seemed like a possibility when Remus came home from school one day, sobbing because Roman hadn’t shown up to their school to play with him during recess, and so, the family must have finally moved away.) 

And if you can’t vilify someone, you can’t get over them. Because you can only think of how good they are and how they didn’t deserve the unhappiness they had. Because you can only think that _you_ must have been the one to do something wrong – if you’re given the opportunity to think those kinds of thoughts at all. 

So sure, Ethan hadn’t gotten over Patton. His love for him was always there. It always _was_ with a first love, but even more so when you didn't have the chance to work through those residual feelings and set them aside so you didn't make stupid decisions later. 

Ten years could numb him to the pain, could stop his heart from feeling like a sinking weight in his chest as he began to distract himself with working long hours again. But it couldn’t eliminate those feelings. 

And so, when the two crossed paths ten years later, Ethan’s heart was all prepared to do whatever it took to get back the man who had been his first true source of happiness and his brightest light of happiness (no offense to his sons) and his long-time love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that this is the last chapter I have pre-written, so there most likely won't be a chapter next week. There may not be another chapter until around the holidays, if I get inspiration for a holiday-themed mini-fic. If you have a request, feel free to comment it, and I'll try to get around to it asap.
> 
> I've decided I'll mark this work (and the series) complete come the new year. It's been a hell of a journey, guys. <3


	21. A Christmas Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton Sanders/Janus Sanders, Patton Sanders, Janus Sanders (named Ethan), Roman Sanders, Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Christmas, adoption, past unhealthy families, food, kissing, domestic fluff, angst, no happy ending, anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you still believe in Santa Claus, please don’t read this. I will not be responsible for taking away someone’s innocence.

Roman and Remus knew about Christmas. They knew who Santa Claus was, even if they’d - and you’d never hear them admit it to their new family – never received presents from him like they knew children were supposed to. (Previous parents had explained it away as them being too naughty for Santa – even though Roman tried his best to behave, even when Remus gave up on trying to stay in line – and so, they’d only been given presents by their current parents so they could still celebrate.) They knew about snow, even if they’d never seen it. They knew most of the words to “The 12 Days of Christmas” - at least up to “five golden rings.” They knew what day it took place. They knew they needed to go to sleep extra early on Christmas Eve so Santa could deliver their presents undetected – even though he never once had, that they could remember. 

In regards to their first Christmas with the Sanders family, they already had an idea of what to expect. They knew they’d get presents from their fathers. Maybe their fathers would do that thing where they bought something, wrapped it, and put their siblings’ names on it. They thought that maybe Virgil would get extra presents, because his birthday (Roman knew when Virgil’s birthday was, but the boy hadn’t seemed to want to celebrate it, if the way he gave no fuss at not even receiving more than a stack of dark chocolate birthday pancakes was any indication) passed by without excitement. 

On the night of Christmas Eve, both of their fathers were home – which Remus would tell you was a first, because their daddy-with-the-burned-face was always working and Daddy was always home with them, lonely. The three boys allowed themselves to be ushered into bed at nine o’clock without complaint (despite the fact that they were in the middle of watching The Nightmare Before Christmas), as if Santa would give them that one last chance to be good before deciding whether he would deliver them presents or not. They tried to fall asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows, even though they were quite excited for the next morning. 

As they did so, the two fathers worked together to bring the Christmas magic alive. They walked on quiet feet to their shared room, pulling various wrapped boxes out of the depths of their closet and depositing them under the brightly- and colorfully-lit tree in the living room. Patton snuck cookies off of the plate he had made with the kiddos earlier that day. He offered one to his husband, but his husband appeared to prefer tasting it on Patton’s lips, pressing him to the wall next to the closet on one of their trips back to their room – before Patton could grab any presents. 

Ethan’s hands moved from Patton’s shoulders to his hair, running the thick strands through his fingers. Patton’s hands fell to Ethan’s waist, holding tight – as if he’d been able to sense the chasm growing between them as Ethan prioritized his work over his family, and he didn’t want to risk letting go or he might lose him and this wonderful family they had built. 

Their lips moved together slowly, sweetly. Just the right hint of wet and Patton’s tasting just the right amount of sweet. As familiar and right a feeling as those moments they found themselves holding hands or slotting comfortably next to each other, cuddled up in bed at night. 

They eventually pulled away. Patton wore a giddy smile as he took in a deep breath. Ethan licked his lips, as if to taste more of the sweetness from Patton’s lips, and Patton found his eyes drawn to the movement. He probably would have kissed his husband again – or let his husband kiss _him_ again – had they not had more presents to place under the tree. 

There was a skip in Patton’s quiet steps as they continued removing the presents from their hiding place and placing them under the tree. There were more sneaked glances and small smiles. And finally, they finished the task. 

Ethan closed the closet door as Patton climbed into their shared bed. Ethan climbed in beside him, and he wasn’t so afraid to admit to himself that he’d missed the sensation of someone in bed next to him, of being home with the man and children he loved. They shared more kisses, before Patton’s yawns kept them from doing so anymore. Then, they fell asleep. 

*** 

They were awakened the next morning as they expected they might have been: with heavy whispers of “Wake up” in their ears. Virgil had never been a child to bounce on the bed, and Remus and Roman appeared to be following his lead. 

However, when the “Wake up’s” only resulted in Patton’s nose crinkling (adorably, Ethan would add, if he was awake) and his eyes twitching beneath his lids, weights shifted then settled on top of the bed. A small body pushed its way between their fathers’. Another small body each laid on top of their fathers. This is what finally pulled Patton’s eyes open, and he craned his neck uncomfortably to catch a glimpse of his three sons. 

“Morning,” Virgil whispered. The younger boys echoed the sentiment. “It’s Christmas.” Again, the younger boys echoed him. 

“Mhm,” Patton agreed with a yawn, keeping his voice quiet. He wished he could stretch but was unable to do so with the bodies all pressed up against him. “But you three can’t go open your presents until after Daddy wakes up and we’ve had breakfast.” The three boys pouted. The boy on Patton shifted over so that he was laying on top of Ethan. Patton took advantage of this to stretch as minimally as he could with a boy still pressed directly to his side, as Ethan groaned at the added weight. 

Ethan pulled his eyes open and fixed his sons with a playful glare. “Morning,” Virgil repeated to his other daddy, sounding like the perfect picture of childish innocence, cueing his younger brothers to follow suit. 

“Good morning,” Ethan responded. “I assume you want me to get out of bed and make breakfast?” Three eager nods were his response. “I can’t make breakfast if I’m squished into my bed by three adorable boys.” The boys in question were quick to clamber out of the bed. Patton turned to his husband and met his eyes with a small, fond smile. 

Ethan gave his husband a quick kiss – much to the overexaggerated disgust of their sons – before pulling himself out of the bed, as well. The boys were quick to shoot off towards the kitchen. Ethan delicately took Patton’s hands and pulled him out of the bed. He pulled him in for a longer kiss, now that they were out of eyesight of their sons. 

Ethan loved the giddy smile his kisses always pulled from Patton. He loved feeling Patton’s hand in his as they followed the path their sons had figuratively worn into the carpet with their quick feet. 

Patton sat down on the ground, before the tree, with the kiddos, in the living room, as Ethan stepped into the kitchen to whip up a quick breakfast for the family. “What do you think is in there?” Patton asked, noticing that Roman had picked up one of his gifts and was tracing the letters on the gift tag sticker that he was pretty sure didn’t spell out the name of anyone in his family. He knew that none of his family’s names started with such a curly letter. 

Roman shrugged before shaking the box lightly. He eyed Patton warily, as if worried that such an action would result in the present being taken away – sent back to Santa or the store because he’d misbehaved. But no such thing happened. 

“I dunno,” Roman finally responded aloud. 

“What about you, Remus?” Patton asked the boy’s twin, who was holding his own gift from “Santa.” 

“Truck?” Remus asked, if only because he really wanted a truck to play pretend with, those times when Roman didn’t want to entertain his ideas but he couldn’t get them out of his head. 

“If that’s what you asked Santa for, then I’m sure he got you one.” The younger boys seemed to light up at the confirmation that they’d been good enough that year to receive presents from Santa, after all. A part of them may have thought that even if they had been, Santa wouldn’t have known where to go, because they’d only been at this new home a few months. 

“What about you, Virgil?” Patton asked his eldest son. “Do you know how many presents you have under the tree?” He knew his son could count, of course. And he didn’t want to make his youngest boys seem like their older brother was getting special treatment. But he knew he’d have to explain to the twins that his brother had birthday _and_ Christmas presents under the tree. 

Patton watched as Virgil found all the presents with his name on them and pulled them in front of him. He would count the number aloud then set the present aside. “Ten,” he finally responded. 

“Very good!” Patton commended. “Can you count your brothers’ presents for them, too?” Virgil nodded. He did as his father had asked him, under his father’s and brothers’ gazes. 

“Seven,” Virgil said after counting one brother’s collection. Then, “Seven,” again, about the other brother’s collection. 

“Do you want to tell them why you have more, kiddo?” Roman and Remus didn’t appear to mind that Virgil had more, if Patton was being honest with himself. But he tried to push that ugly thought out of his mind. Christmas was a day of happiness. He wouldn’t let any bad thoughts get the better of him and ruin the day for his kiddos. 

“‘Cause some are for my birthday, too. Right, daddy?” 

“Exactly. Since your birthday is only six days before Christmas, it’s easier for Daddy and I to give you all your presents on Christmas. So this year, you have seven Christmas presents like your brothers, but one birthday present from me, one from Daddy and one from your brothers.” The younger boys looked at their father as if to say, “We didn’t get him anything,” but their father’s sly smile in their direction kept their lips shut in smiles of their own. 

“Is Daddy almost done making breakfast?” Remus asked instead, bouncing in place, his patience growing thinner. 

“Almost done,” Ethan called from the kitchen. “I’m just making some bacon and eggs. You boys can go wash your hands then come sit down at the table.” The three boys quickly got up and went to do as their father asked. Patton stood as well, walking into the kitchen instead of the bathroom like their sons. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink, before standing beside his husband to watch him finish up breakfast. He would deny the squeal that left his lips when a little hot oil shot up from the pan of sizzling bacon. But he couldn’t deny the giddy smile on his lips as his sons walked in, right after his husband pulled his lips away from his, having kissed him as if to perhaps nonverbally say, “You’re adorable and I love you.” 

The three boys sat down at their seats at the table, Roman and Remus sitting on a little booster so they could reach the tabletop easier. Shortly after, Ethan and Patton served their sons breakfast and did the same for themselves, before sitting down at the table with them. 

*** 

“Can Re and I play with the giant castle now?” Roman asked, even though Virgil still had one present to open and they all had yet to clean up the shreds of wrapping paper from the living room floor. The giant castle in question was still in its box. However, Remus appeared to be more interested in the truck he’d gotten, rolling it across the carpet, over the wrapping paper, and shoving it harshly towards a far wall before crawling and scraping his knees on the carpet to go fetch it. 

“Not yet,” Ethan responded, knowing his husband would have probably given in. Especially when the boy turned wide eyes and a quivering lip his way. “Not yet,” he repeated, firmer. “I don’t like to repeat myself, Roman.” The boy curled in on himself, burying his head behind his knees and arms. Patton leaned over to place a gentle hand on his back, as if, perhaps, in apology. He shot his husband a look that could have been withering, were he not a complete puffball. Ethan just shrugged. 

The adults returned their attention to their oldest son as he pulled the wrapping paper off of his final gift. His eyes lit up at the sight of the soft bundle of fabric inside: a pitch black, weighted blanket – though the boy only knew this when he tried to lift it. He turned a curious gaze towards his fathers. 

“It’s a weighted blanket,” Ethan explained. “It should help you relax easier at night so you can sleep more.” The boy was highly anxious, Ethan knew, no matter how much Patton tried to deny it. If he could help his son in this small way – since therapy would require Patton’s permission, in the sense that it was more of a major decision that should necessitate input from both parents – he would. “How about you follow me so we can put it on your bed and you can try it out while your daddy and the boys clean up the wrapping paper?” 

“Don’t I have to help?” Virgil asked, even though he was already standing. 

“Consider it another birthday present.” 

“That’s not fair!” Roman cried out. Remus echoed the sentiment, looking up from his new truck, but it was only Roman who said this next bit: “It’s more his mess than ours!” 

“Maybe so,” Ethan responded. “But your daddy and I have cleaned up after all of you multiple times. You can clean up for Virgil this once and consider it a birthday present for him, right?” 

“But I don’t like cleaning.” Patton chuckled, very aware of this fact. 

“How about we make it into a game?” the bespectacled father proposed, shooting a wink the twins’ way. “If the both of you, combined, clean more than me, then I’ll buy you whatever sweet treat you want from the store tomorrow. But if _I_ clean more than the both of you, then I’m gonna tell the tickle monster where your most tickle-iest spots are.” Both boys shook their heads rapidly, shooting to their feet. 

“I don’t wanna be tickled by the tickle monster!” Roman said. Ethan quietly led Virgil out of the room, the boy's new blanket in his hands. 

“Ready... set... go!” Patton stood slowly, while the twins scrambled to pick up as many shreds of wrapping paper they could carry. 

“Where do they go?” Remus asked, once he’d gathered enough that the pile in his arms threatened to topple. 

“In the really big garbage can in the kitchen,” Patton responded, picking up a few shreds of wrapping paper. 

“Race you!” Remus crowed to his brother, already taking off. 

“I’m gonna win!” Roman replied, shooting off a second after his brother. 

“Careful!” Patton called after them. He gathered up more wrapping paper. He had amassed a large enough pile by the time his sons had come back and gathered up a second pile each. 

“Race you, daddy!” the twins cried, already shooting off. Patton followed them with wide strides. He passed them by with a cheeky grin, tossing his pile into the bin. 

“We’ll beat you back, then!” Roman said, determined, as he dumped his wrapping paper into the garbage can. Patton again followed his boys with wide strides, but they beat him back to the living room. They all gathered up more scraps of wrapping paper. 

Virgil and Ethan emerged from the boys’ bedroom as soon as Roman and Remus took off with one last pile of wrapping paper scraps. Patton followed after them with his wide strides, shooting a smile in his husband and eldest son’s direction. 

“Who won, daddy?” the twins asked as the three walked back into the living room, a moment later. 

“I can’t be sure,” Patton responded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “What do you think, Dee?” 

“I imagine the boys beat you,” Ethan answered with a smirk. Patton gave him a smile in return. 

“You heard Daddy, kiddos. Better think about what kind of sweet treat you want. You, too, Virgil, otherwise it wouldn’t be fair. But for now, Roman, how about we open the new castle?” Roman nodded quickly. The twins and Patton sat down before the box which held the castle. Virgil and Ethan joined them, if only to oversee the unboxing process. 

*** 

After that Christmas, the family learned that a lot could change in a matter of months. Not to mention how many changes could happen in a year. In five. In ten. 

In a matter of months, a family could shatter, be completely ripped apart. 

In a year, a young boy could begin to adjust to being without his literal other half. 

In five years, a new father could celebrate his first Christmas (as a family) with his new husband and son. 

In ten years, a family could be reunited, just to be torn apart again by a secret, deceitful scheme. 

The family members would feel the same wounds from ten years prior, after the original split. Christmas would feel lonely, despite the three-member-sized family. But they wouldn’t let it pass them by. But they could never replicate the childish joy that had filled their old apartment, ten years before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s how I’m officially ending this series. You’ve been here long enough not to expect a happy ending from me. Happy holidays!


End file.
